


Capturing the Dragon

by jarethsdragon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), overwatch
Genre: Bad Family Dynamics, Cutting, F/M, Multiple dragons, Original Female Character - Freeform, Scion!Hanzo, Self-Harm, Shimada-cest, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarethsdragon/pseuds/jarethsdragon
Summary: Hanzo has done many unforgivable things.  But even he could barely believe that his father, Sojiro, demanded this of him.  All to secure a second dragon from an insignificant female.  Who knew the chaos this would bring?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was going to do some raunchy Shimada-chest with Hanzo and his sister. I really was. I meant to do a quickie—a short fic or some dribbles because I loved some of the ones that have been written elsewhere.
> 
> This is absolutely not like that.
> 
> Obligatory trigger warnings: A major character has cutting issues and there is a suicide in this.

“She is what?!” Hanzo demanded gruffly.

Sojiro folded his arms impatiently as he looked at his sons in his office, not caring if he mussed his silk shirt or costly suit. “I said that she is your younger half-sister.” He frowned, as he watched his younger son sit and tap his fingers on the fine wooden chair arms and his older son pace the floor. “Did I stutter?”

Genji looked at his father in disbelief. “But...how did this happen?”

Sojiro growled low in his throat as he sat back in his heavily upholstered chair behind the desk. Impatiently, he slid all the papers into the beige folder and closed it. “That doesn’t matter, now. You don’t need to worry about it in any case.” He started tapping his fingers impatiently himself. “What matters is that she is a Shimada.”

Hanzo folded his arms and glowered. “I assume that it has been verified.”

“Indeed,” Sojiro snapped, tapping the folder. “Complete blood work has been done and the results are conclusive.”

“So, who cares?” Genji shrugged. “One more or less, it doesn’t matter—.”

“Of course it matters!” Sojiro snapped angrily. “Hanzo. Genji. You both have a single dragon each. We need to have Shimada children in order to have more dragons. Every new dragon is a new protector, a new strength, and a new opportunity for the Shimada-kai to succeed.”

Hanzo looked irritated, but finally nodded. Genji looked at the other men and nodded, “So what do you want us to do?”

Sojiro waited for a beat or two in annoyed silence and then grunted, “I expect you to do what you two apparently do best.” His eyes narrowed and he glared at Hanzo. “As the eldest, you can have her first. Breed her, claim the dragon, and then let Genji have a turn.”

“That seems...mercenary,” Genji noted absently. “I mean, she’ll have a brood to support.”

“Pay her off,” Sojiro snorted. “She has nothing and will be grateful for whatever we give her. When you’re both done, then send her away.”

“Nan demo,” Genji snorted, looking aside in distaste. “Whatever.”

“So what is the first step?” Hanzo grunted. “Do I promote her from a maid to—?”

“Imadani,” Sojiro said thoughtfully. “Not yet.” At his eldest son’s frown he shrugged. “She doesn’t know. I had her do the blood work without telling her what I suspected and she was told that it was for a random drug check.”

“So what brought this on?” Genji asked suddenly. “I mean...there must be a hundred or more employees here. Why pick on her?”

Sojiro shrugged as if that was an unimportant detail. “Her foolish mother told her to bring me a letter. Told her that I would hire her and give her work.” He shrugged again. “In her letter, her mother told me that she was mine.”

Hanzo shot out half of an eye roll. “So, what do I need to do? I am very busy.” He gestured sharply at his younger brother. “Why not let Genji do it?”

“Hey!” Genji protested with a half-hearted shrug.

“You never have been too busy to plow your dick into a sabanto before, ototo,” Hanzo growled. “I am far too busy working on a deal—.”

“Ie!” Sojiro growled, silencing them both. “Hanzo, as the oldest I expect you to do it first. And quickly before Hamura-kai or someone else decides to either hire her away or dispose of her.” He snorted at his sons’ faces. “The last thing we need is for some other family to have dragons as well.”

“This is iyarashi,” Genji growled. “We can find females anywhere. Why not just go to one of cousins and breed them?”

Sojiro growled and slammed his fist on the desk. “Females?! We cannot just pick up any girl and fuck her. A Shimada relation would expect more money, would expect to maintain control of any dragons bred, would expect to have power and control and most importantly would expect marriage.” His face contorted into a mask of irritation. “This bitch is all but penniless. Her whoring mother is dead—died three weeks ago and left her with funeral debts and the letter to me. She was desperate for a job when she finally came to me.” He shrugged in irritation. “Just do what I tell you. Breed her. Toss her to Genji. Then get rid of her.” He shook his head. “Then, you are both free to for appropriate and responsible and profitable marriages that will advance the power and might of the Shimada-kai.”

“What about the children?” Hanzo grunted, smoothing his beard idly. “They are going to be Shimadas—.”

“A thousand things could happen,” Sojiro smirked with a shrug. “One exposure in the clear and she and all the children could be conveniently history.” He snorted. “Just get the dragons.” He glared at his eldest son. “I expect you to do your duty to the clan. Make us stronger, Hanzo.” He growled lowly, “And I expect you to say absolutely nothing of the dragons.”

“Hai, oto-san,” Hanzo bit out sharply, sketching a bow.


	2. Chapter 2

Chiyo wearily pushed the mop across the mosaic floor. It was one of her favorite floors with the mosaic of two dragons forming a circle around a black and white in-yo symbol. There were two windows that overlooked an ancient cherry tree in the courtyard. The first time that she had cleaned she had opened the glass windows to let some fresh air in and the early spring breeze had brought a handful of pale pink petals in before settling them on the floor. Despite the fact that she had been tasked with scrubbing the floors until they were spotless and the delicate petals had flit everywhere, it was a comforting thing to see the little petals drifting in.

The room was filled with a solemn hush today. Whatever this room had ever been, it was now some kind of traditional parlor or sitting room with a few cushions on the floor and a low lacquered table that gleamed with years of careful polishing. There was an old ink painting of what was purportedly a famous Kyoto geisha as she danced with a fan. It was not hard to imagine ancient samurai sitting here, negotiating peace treaties or other important things.

Finishing up the final corner, Chiyo took out a cloth and mopped up the last bits with it. She had already polished the sills and the tables, so she was almost done. The last part was to take a clean and dry cloth of soft cotton and gently brush any dust from the scroll.

“Well, beautiful lady,” Chiyo whispered in a hushed voice that belied the smile on her lips. “It’s just you and me. Let’s brush you off and you will be radiant to dance tonight.”

A deep voice echoed in the room. “Sayurii.”

Chiyo dropped her cloth and looked nervously over her shoulder. The young master of the clan was watching her closely from the doorway. She had seen him from a distance, of course—slightly shorter than his younger brother but far more obviously muscular and the faint air of arrogance that unlimited money and power could give a person. Today he was in an artfully tailored gun metal grey suit with a crisp shirt so white there was actually a faint blue tint to it.

“I-I’m so sorry, Shimada-sama,” Chiyo burbled as she turned a fiery red. “I did not realize that you were there. I will leave.”

“No. Finish your task first.” He slid off the suit coat and tossed it over his shoulder. “Sayurii-san should not be dusty.”

Chiyo watched him warily, repeatedly glancing at him over her shoulder. She took the cloth and gently rubbed the piece of bamboo at the top of the painting. Folding the cloth over, Chiyo touched the thick paper, brushing over the delicately painted figure. She was nervous—everyone knew that the young wakagashira had a notoriously bad temper—and almost dropped the cloth.

“Do you know Nitta Saruyii-san’s story?” he asked suddenly.

“Regrettably, I do not,” Chiyo muttered in what she hoped was a respectful enough tone as she brushed the painting’s chest.

His heavy footsteps echoed in the almost empty room as he came to stand behind her. “She was sold by her father into an okiya to be trained as a geisha. The reigning geisha was Hatsumomo and that geisha was determined to ruin Sayurii-san. Sayurii-san tried to run away, but was caught and she was demoted to be a maid.”

His voice caught softly. “She was doomed to die there until her fortunes changed. She ran into an honored businessman who convinced another famous geisha to mentor her. However, Sayurii-san did become a full geisha and eventually became so successful that she forced Hastumomo-san to leave.”

Chino swallowed, flushing as she concentrated on brushing the dust from the waist and groin of the figure. “And then what?”

Hanzo nodded, watching her carefully. “Sayurii-san became an even more famous geisha. Eventually, she met the businessman again and he became her danna—her...protector and benefactor. At the end, the businessman was married and Sayurii-san moved to New York where she started a new tea house and entertained there.”

“Oh,” Chiyo muttered as she kept dusting.

“She was said to have eyes like silver mirrors,” continued Hanzo. He gestured at the face of the painting. “And you can see that this geisha has light eyes.”

Chiyo puffed out a breath as she finally knelt to finish the bottom of the painting. Thank goodness that this was almost done. She was almost shaking at the hulking man standing over her. “How interesting,” she muttered in an impatient tone.

Hanzo grunted. She was wary, untrusting. “In the end, she became someone she didn’t know she could be. Everything about her changed—her name, her circumstances, her future and her past. The moment she became a geisha, she changed her name, made up a past, changed how she talked and walked and behaved.” He shrugged. “She believed she had no choice except to become that person in order to survive.”

He stood over her, ostensibly examining the painting. “I do not know you or what you are or who you were in the past, but I council you to be careful in the future.”

Then, to her surprise, he turned and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

Chiyo was shaking as she collected her tools and left the room. The wakagashira’s words seemed ominous and even threatening. What on earth he meant, she had no idea, but it did make her nervous as she glanced over her shoulder as she trudged to the busy room where the cleaning supplies were stored.

The supervisor was harried and snapping impatiently at everything as Chiyo slid in and began rinsing things out. The various rags were washed and dropped into a bucket of sanitizing solution until that they could be laundered properly. Next was the cloth mop heads, rinsing them and getting them ready to be properly cleaned. For the last step, she cleaned out the buckets and dumped the water out when they were clean so that they could be stored neatly in the closet.

Finally, she was done for the day. Wearied, she was happy to escape to the small servant’s door. Unfortunately, one of the sharply dressed shatei—the “little brothers” who were junior members of the yakuza—was standing there, watching over the servants as they were leaving. Chiyo ducked her head and shuffled past, hoping to avoid his attention.

There was never anything good about attracting the attention of even one of the shatei, let alone one of the more senior kyodai.

Walking up to a group of gossiping women, Chiyo hunched over even more, ducking her head and trying to blend in with the group as much as possible. They were gossiping and chatting excitedly as they walked, not even noticing as she clung to the edges of their circle of friends. They were too busy discussing the new club—Typhoon—that was opening and when they could get together to go later that evening.

Chiyo thought that she was in the clear. She had crept by the man in the gaggle of chattering women without him even seeming to see her. She had even dared to glance over her shoulder at him as he smiled at a woman he obviously knew further down the line. Taking in a deep breath, she slid the tiny earphones in her ears and turned on the chanting pop song.

When she was finally in the tiny apartment she called home, she took a breath of relief. Her roommates—equally young and equally less affluent twenty somethings—bustled about with hot curling irons and fistfuls of makeup brushes. Sparkling accessories and clothes were across the bathroom sinks, along with palettes of eyeshadows and rouges.

“Hey, Chiyo-san!” burbled Ana as she darted through in her slip with hangers of clothes dripping off of them. “Do you want to come with us? We’re going to Typhoon and then maybe that new place a few blocks down.”

“No, thank you,” whispered Chiyo, slouching down and looking away. “I think that I’ll just stay in.”

“Well, you have to come with us this weekend,” Ana giggled. “Mei’s boyfriend is celebrating his promotion.”

Chiyo sighed as she slid off the heavy uniform and put on lighter sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt before abandoning the bathroom to their other roommate. It was a relief to be in something comfortable and surrounded by young and bright ladies again instead of solemn and armed men and the women they controlled. “I guess.”

“What is the job like?” Ana asked excitedly. “I mean...it’s so intriguing, isn’t it? A mysterious letter from your mother and you get a job at Hanamura estate. What did it say?”

Chiyo shrugged. “I didn’t open it.”

“What?! You really didn’t?” Ana whistled. “I’d have opened it double time!” She giggled as she shimmied into a soft red velvet slip dress with tiny red beads. “Besides—you know who owns Hanamura, right?”

Chiyo rolled her eyes. “Everyone does—the Shimada clan.”

“And so, you’ve been working there two weeks. Have you met them yet? The Shimadas?”

Chiyo looked up at her guiltily. “Sort of.” Ana flopped down with eager eyes. “You can’t help but see people in their own house.”

“And Genji? The Genji? Have you met him yet?”

Chiyo shook her head. “Not really—just have seen him in passing. I have not seen the....” Chiyo swallowed heavily. “The kumicho.”

“And Grumpy Shimada?”

“What?!”

“Grumpy Shimada,” Ana giggled. “The older brother—Hanzo.” She laughed at Chiyo’s startled face. “The one whose face would crack if he smiled.”

Chiyo felt her face flame. “You make him sound...inhuman.”

“And you look like you’ve got a crush!” singsonged Ana. “Don’t tell me that you’re crushing on Genji the Gorgeous!” She giggled again. “Not that I wouldn’t be in your shoes.”

Chiyo shot her roommate an exasperated look as she tossed her heavy cotton uniform into the wash. “Look...this isn’t like working in a coffee shop or tea house. This isn’t a bunch of gaijin who don’t care and don’t matter. These are the Shimadas. You—you can’t go around saying things like that!”

Ana sighed heavily with a grin. “Oh, you’re no fun. Everyone says these things.”

“Well, everyone doesn’t work there.” Chiyo shuddered, feeling exposed and cold. “It’s best to just...well...keep such talk to yourself.”

“Stick in the mud,” Ana pronounced solemnly. “I swear, you’re already an old lady.”

“Well, I want to live that long,” snapped Chiyo. “I happen to want to live to be an old lady.”

“Chiyo, you need to live a little.” Ana shrugged. “What’s the use of living if you don’t live?” The other woman didn’t respond. “It’s not your fault that you have no family. It’s not your fault that your mother’s treatment cost so much. I mean—maybe there is something....” She puffed out a breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any idea what you’re going through—with no family to help you find work or a husband or anything.”

“Yeah,” Chiyo muttered. “And this job pays about twice what any other job does except for the ones that involve sex.” She shrugged bitterly. “And next to you or any other woman out there, I’d never get any customers like that.”

“You keep saying that, but you don’t notice the stares from Riku-San!”

“He...doesn’t know me.” Chiyo shrugged, unconsciously rubbing her forearms. “Not really.”

Ana squawked something, some protests that Chiyo didn’t hear and didn’t pay attention to. Eventually all three of her roommates bustled out, eager to go clubbing, and the place was silent. The apartment seemed to grow in size with the quiet.

Taking out a book, Chiyo settled on her tiny futon with a book and her phone playing soft music through her earphones. It was comforting to be lazy for an hour or two before going to bed. Today was over. Tomorrow would come and at the end of the week, she’d be able to pay a tiny bit more on the overwhelming debts she had inherited from her mother.

Chiyo was more rested, if not more relaxed when she returned to the estate. Again she had to clean and it was no less exhausting today than yesterday. At every turn there was yet another room that had to be polished and cleaned—the costly artifacts needing hand polishing and careful handling. She consoled herself that it was good paying work, despite the heavy kimono uniform with its long sleeves and long skirt and the even longer hours. The bosses did not even allow the small convenience of keeping her small phone with her so she had only the deep silences and hollow halls for company.

At the end of the day, she was again sticky and sweaty and brushing the dust from another almost spotless painting—this one was a rather abstract one in various shades of pale blue and gray that suggested horses on a foggy seashore. She liked this painting as well, with the soothing colors and cool theme. She actually liked this whole room very much with it’s cool blue wall hangings and comfortable chairs in the western style. It even had a beautiful blue rug that one of the other maids said was Persian that looked practically too perfect to actually walk on.

“So you’re Chiyo-San,” a tenor voice said behind her.

Chiyo whirled around at the unfamiliar voice. A taller man with a shock of green spiky hair stood behind her in a satin bomber jacket with khaki cargo pants on. He looked at her dispassionately before a trace of humor crossed his face.

“You’re actually kind of cute, I suppose.”

Chiyo swallowed heavily, gauging him. “What..? I-I-I mean, beg pardon?”

“I said, I suppose that you’re kind of cute.” He cocked his head, his eyes growing fractionally cooler. “Have you seen my anija?”

“I am so sorry.” Chiyo flushed and looked away. “I do not know—.”

He snorted and, after a pause, nodded. “I suppose not.” Without another word, he turned and left. A few steps later, he turned and tossed over his shoulder, “Tell him I was looking for him—if he lets you speak.”

She sighed, staring after the man as he ambled down the hall. A few paces down, Hanzo emerged from another hallway and the two men spoke briefly in quiet, hurried tones before the younger man walked away down the hall. The elder man paused briefly, watching the retreating back, before turning towards Chiyo. His mouth thinned and his eyes grew harder as he stalked down the hallway towards her.

“You will stay on the estate tonight,” he all but snarled at her.

Chiyo gaped at him, bowing deeply to hide her blush. “I-I-I am sorry?”

He glared at her, studying her. There was something about her that reminded him of his father—the shape of her nose, the dimple on her cheek, the wide brow that crinkled as she looked up at him. There was a definite resemblance, enough to make people question if they looked hard enough. Which made him wonder why no one had asked about it before—why had no one pointed out the resemblance or questioned why she was hired on so swiftly.

“There is a problem in town,” he chuffed impatiently. “You will stay here tonight.”

“B-b-but I am not...important,” she blushed, bowing her head far more than he expected. “I am no one.”

“A servant will take you to quarters where you may rest,” he continued as though he had not heard her protest. “Stay there tonight.”

Without another word, he turned and went down the hallway. A uniformed servant approached at his snap and he issued his orders without looking at her. The servant looked at her nervously and the nodded towards the young master.

Chiyo flushed nervously, picking up her supplies and lowering her face. The servant—one she had known, the one who had trained her (such as it was) and had helped her when she first came and who was so friendly and bubbly, only touched her shoulder and gestured down the hall. There was no excuse or anything else she could say—the master had spoken and everyone had to obey or suffer the consequences.

She was led to a hallway she had not visited before. Frowning, she paused and whispered, “Is this the way to the servants’ quarters?”

“No.”

Chiyo swallowed. There were a great many places in the estate that she had not been in. Perhaps this was guest quarters or something. A small hallway hastily converted for the servants that were staying for the night. There need not be any reason to be concerned she told herself—even if she didn’t believe it.

They turned down another hallway, this one with only three doors branching off of it. It seemed more quiet, more remote than the others and Chiyo’s eyes widened as she was led to the one of the thick doors and they stopped.

“You will stay here tonight,” the servant whispered.

“But where am I?” Chiyo asked softly.

“You need not be worried,” the servant said stiffly without looking at her. “You will be safe enough here.”

Without another word, the door was opened and Chiyo was shoved inside.

The door slammed behind her and Chiyo all but jumped out of her skin. The room—one of the few rooms with stone walls that swallowed up all sound—was an exquisite bedroom and sitting room. The front room held a plush brown leather couch and two recliners that surrounded a low table inlaid with a pattern of a pheonix and a dragon in mother of pearl. The back rooms—a bedroom and rather lushly appointed bathroom—held a huge iron-wrought bed piled with crisply encased pillows, various tables at convenient points, and a massive desk with a plain leather cushioned stool in front of it. She didn’t dare touch the huge chest of drawers made from spotless walnut. There was a waist high micro-fridge with several crystal decanters on top and she did peek in there, but there only saw more bottles with labels in a variety of languages.

Frowning, she went to sit on one of the chairs. She sank deeply into the leather upholstery, whimpering at the hiss as it enveloped her. This was way too nice for a mere guest room. Chiyo kept frowning at the furniture, sure that she was about to be in more trouble than she knew what to do with.

A few hours later, she was proven right.

She heard nothing ahead of time. The thick stone walls literally absorbed all the sound, making the room deathly quiet and Chiyo had at last fallen asleep where she sat on the chair. So, the first inkling she had was when the door closed behind him.

She blinked several times, aching and unsure where she was. She looked around blankly, trying to figure out where she was and what woke her up. It wasn’t until she saw him standing in front of the closed door that she began to panic.

“Sir! Shimada-san...uhh... Shimada-sama! I’m so sorry, sir!” She shot up to her feet, brushing off the chair and straightening up her uniform. “I...I-I didn’t—! I’m sorry!”

He sighed heavily and held up a hand. “I will simply pretend that you were not sleeping in the chair rather than the bed.” He slid off the costly suit coat, ignoring the torn sleeve. “Let us get...comfortable and go to bed.”

“Sir?” Chiyo looked at him fearfully. “I.... Do you want me to leave?”

He grunted, rolling his shoulder with a grimace and gritting teeth. “No, I want to get to bed.”

Chiyo’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Of course!”

“I am glad that you agree,” he grunted sourly. “It is late.”

Chiyo slid closer to the door. “I will leave immediately so that you can...retire.”

He glowered at her. “Then go to the bed.”

“But you will...undoubtedly want to...that is...alone.”

He chuckled darkly. “Hardly.” He began unbuttoning his shirt. “I have no time to dance attendance and go through idiotic courtship rituals. I want you in my bed. You are unattached and available. Therefore, there is no barrier to us becoming intimate.” He shrugged out of the shirt. “And now it is time for us to go to bed.”

Chiyo’s eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed. “B-b-but...I do not.... That is, I am tremendously honored, but, really.... This is too much!”

Hanzo snorted and snapped, pointing towards the bedroom. “Do what I say.”

Chiyo couldn’t look him in the eyes, and her gaze dropped. Taking in a shaking breath, she shuddered. “B-b-but.... I thought that you’d be—.”

“I’d be what?!” he demanded impatiently as he slid off the white shirt.

Her voice was trembling as much as she was. “I thought that you would be with someone...not me.”

He crossed his arms, rubbing his face with irritation. “And what is that supposed to mean?!”

She shrugged. “Someone who is beautiful. Tall and blonde and....” She shrugged again and scrambled for words. The only ones she could think of made her blush. “Perfect like you.”

He growled. “I have chosen you.” He snapped and pointed towards the bed. “It is too late for us to be arguing like this. I expect you to be in my bed in five minutes.”

Chiyo watched him stalk to the bathroom and heard water running. Swallowing, she crept to the door and tugged it. The door opened and she ducked through it, sliding it closed behind her.

It must have been late—there was absolutely no one in the hallways as Chiyo crept through. She did not stop until she got to the servant’s area. No one was around and, as she tugged at the door of the servant’s exit, it was locked. Chiyo whimpered as she kept pulling.

A sharply dressed man emerged in the hallway, watching her with a snarl on his face. “What are you doing here?!”

Chiyo swallowed a hysterical whine and curled her hands into fists, pressing her nails into her palms as she turned and bowed. “F-f-forgive me, sir. I was l-l-late.”

The man walked up to her. “Stand still. Spread your arms and legs.”

“W-w-why?”

“I am going to search you,” he snapped. Chiyo gritted her teeth and spread her limbs, submitting to the pat down as his hands ran up and down her body. “You’re clear. Don’t do this again.” He pulled out a key ring and went to the door. With a salacious wink, he eyed her. “Or else I’ll expect you to, you know, do me a favor in return.”

Chiyo shook as she watched him flip through the keys. Gasping in a shaky breath, she prayed for him to hurry. She only needed to get out that door and down the path to the highway, and then she could go home. “I-I-I won’t be late again.”

“Oh, baby,” he winked as he got the door unlocked. “You don’t want to spend some time with me?”

Chiyo bit her lip. The door seemed to be be achingly slow and she saw the starry night, felt the cool breeze, and was about to dart out when she heard heavy footsteps behind her.

“Stop right there!” Hanzo’s voice echoed in the still hallway.

The door slammed shut as the kyodai straightened and turned pale. “Sir!”

Chiyo whimpered and dropped weakly to her knees as her escape was cut off as he shut the door. “B-b-but...”

The Shimada wakagashira stomped up and grabbed her shoulder. He smiled thinly at the startled other man and pulled her to her feet in front of him. Spinning her around, he pressed a kiss to her startled lips. “I did not mean to make you wait so late for me, little treasure. Come back to bed and let me apologize.”

Chiyo stiffened and pushed his shoulders. He didn’t even seem to notice. “I...I just want to go home,” she whimpered fearfully.

“Then I will make it up to you tomorrow,” Hanzo murmured against her lips. Pulling away from her in the very picture of lover’s remorse, he looked at the kyodai sharply. “Take her home and make sure that she gets there safely. It is too late for my treasure to find a safe taxi.”

“Of course sir!” The younger man jumped and pulled another set of keys out. “I will take her home myself.”

Hanzo glared at him. “And if I ever hear of you hitting on my woman—!”

“I had no idea, sir!” He laughed and turned a berry red. “I mean.... I hadn’t—! Never, sir.”

“Good,” Hanzo murmured, folding his arms. “I will expect her to be safe in your hands.” He gripped her shoulders and kissed Chiyo’s cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Chiyo barely got to the estate before she knew something was wrong.

The other maids couldn’t or wouldn’t meet her gaze, tittering and whispering behind her. The shatei backed away from her, refusing to be in the same room as her. The higher servants addressed her with a distant politeness. The kyodai who drove her home backed away from her, bowing deeply before muttering that he would tell the family she had arrived.

Chiyo found herself in a small sitting room with a cup of hot tea and a small plate of candies. Her cheeks flamed as she knitted her hands nervously. A maid was walking past the open doorway and glanced at her. “Hey,” Chiyo called to her with a shaky smile.

The woman jumped a little and gaped at her. “Oh, ma’am—!”

Chiyo puffed out a nervous laugh. “Sakura-san, it’s me—Chiyo.”

Sakura looked nervously around and bowed. “Chiyo-san, what can I do for you?”

Chiyo looked at her, trying to find some of the comfortable familiarity she had felt just yesterday. “B-b-but...it’s me.” She wrung her hands, plucking anxiously at the wrists of the long sleeves of her uniform. “Just yesterday, we were...working together—.”

“Ma’am,” Sakura whispered, bowing. “I...I need this job. Is there something that I can do for you?”

Chiyo looked at her plaintively. Sadly, she whispered, “I.... What happened? Why is everyone treating me so differently?”

“Differently?” Sakura whispered as she went pale. “Oh, the wakagashira wouldn’t like for you to be treated disrespectfully. Shimada-sama will be with you very soon—.”

Chiyo’s mouth went dry and she felt a cold shiver crawl up her spine. Of course—the young Master’s poisonous little words to the kyodai had now spread all over the estate. It made a distant sort of sense now—why everyone had suddenly pulled away from her. 

No one wanted to upset the second in command.

She waved Sakura-san away and went to sit back down. Her legs felt rubbery and she wanted to throw up. Even the tea smelled nauseating and she pushed it away a little. No one else bothered her as she sat still in the otherwise unoccupied room—just occasionally whispering past on softly slippered feet.

A clock somewhere chimed and Chiyo looked around again, impatient. Staggering to her feet, she picked up the delicate plates to carry them back to the kitchen. At least there would be people in the kitchen as they rushed to fix elaborate meals for the family and guests. There was no one in the hallways as she crept with the tea and candies towards the kitchen.

Of course, her luck deserted her and the hugely muscled Hanzo was down some hallway or doorway that she passed. She had gotten only half-way to the kitchen when she heard his voice behind her. “I believe that I told you that I would apologize to you in our bedroom.”

Chiyo yelped nervously, the candies spilling on the floor as her hands shook and the plate tilted. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him smiling at her. He was in yet another well tailored suit, a crisp silk shirt and with his suit coat thrown over one shoulder. He was smiling at her, his long hair pulled back with a golden cloth that made his eyes appear even darker.

“I...I—,” she stammered.

“Little treasure,” he murmured. “You look exhausted. Let me take you to bed so that you can rest.”

“O-o-oh,” she whispered. “But—.”

“No excuses,” he smiled with a wagging finger with a playful smile that did not reach his eyes. “I kept you up far too late and now you are exhausted.” A servant appeared like magic, cleaned the spilled candies and took the china away from her as Hanzo dropped a casual arm around her waist. “Tonight I will insist that you stay in my room and rest.”

Chiyo could not even manage to stammer a reply before he was leading her away. Everyone that saw them shot the couple knowing smirks and made way for them. Hanzo kept up a running patter that might have been flirtatious in another life, but that scared her now. Unfortunately it seemed to convince everyone that not only were they together, and that they had, in fact, been together for a while.

He wasn’t slowing down, though. Chiyo stumbled as she was turned down the family hallways and towards his bedroom. Finally she tried to beg, “P-p-please, sir. N-n-no.”

“I do not like that word,” Hanzo smirked. “I want you to stop using it.”

He opened the door and hustled her in. As soon as the door closed, his hand and smile dropped and his eyes turned hard. “Since you have not proven trustworthy, I will lock you in here when I cannot be with you.”

Chiyo spun to look up at him. “W-w-what?!”

“I have told you that I want you to be mine,” he snapped angrily. “And you have only spit it in my face.” He folded his arms. “I do not have time to discipline you right now because of a meeting. You will stay here until I return. Then we will talk.” He looked at her scornfully. “If you had obeyed me, I would have arranged a shopping trip today. Instead, you will spend today locked in here, alone.”

He slid into his suit coat. Shooting a glare at her, he added, “If the slightest thing is out of place when I return, I will beat you with my belt.”

Chiyo shook and her vision went dark around the edges as she dropped to her knees. His words went fuzzy as he left, slamming the door behind him. She waited, listened, and heard absolutely nothing. She had no idea how long she was crumpled on the floor, just terrified.

He had effectively wiped out everything she had ever done. Everyone was fooled by the man—how delicately he had held her, the soft words and endearments, how he had already removed her from her usual duties and installed her in his room. Everyone was convinced that they were already intimate and nothing she could do or say would make the slightest difference in their opinions. Until he was done with her, she would not be able to work here and—horrifyingly—she might not be able to work after that because who would risk hiring someone intimately connected to a yakuza?

There was still the overwhelming debts. Her mother’s debts that threatened to bury her forever....

She spent an inordinate amount of time simply crumpled up on the lush carpet. When she finally managed to get herself upright, half the day seemed gone. There was still no sound from the hallway and the door was verifiably locked. No matter how she pulled at it, how much she pounded and screamed, no one answered.

Weeping, she pulled away from the door and staggered through the rooms. Nothing had changed—not the crisply made bed, not the towels, not the dresser. There was nothing on the desk—not even a pen or a piece of paper or a phone. Everything was locked—the drawers, the desk, the cabinets, the bedside tables. Even the closet and what kind of person locked the closet in a locked bedroom?

Distraught, she went to the bathroom. There was nothing to do but to try to clean herself up a bit. Maybe if she wasn’t a mess, he’d listen to her. He’d have to. She took her hair down—it was wrecked and looked like a madwoman had styled it with a lobster—and combed it with her fingers before braiding it, wrapping the braid into a bun on the back of her head and sticking her cheap wooden chopstick through it to keep it up. A little cool water and her face looked better—still pale and like she was going to drop in terror any moment, but at least it was better than when she started.

Again, there was nothing to do. She kept pacing, wandering through the rooms and trying everything over and over in case she missed a drawer or cabinet. She even pulled the cushions out from the couch, searching for anything and only coming up with a few coins and a few business cards from an exclusive hostess club.

So, there was nothing. Still, the young Master had told her that if she had behaved, he would have arranged to take her shopping. Perhaps if she was cool and calm now, she could still get out of this.

Some time later, Hanzo made he way back to the apartment. His stomach churned with something that he didn’t want to think about. He wanted a drink—something strong.

She was his aneki—his little sister. Half-sister. It was profane that he was being ordered to fuck her. She was a bastard—his father’s unwanted offspring—but she was still...something. Only, she didn’t know it. From what his sources had gathered, she had no idea why her mother had sent her here, why she was offered a job at the exorbitant pay, or why anyone would be interested in her.

Except, now he knew.

He knew that his job was to breed her like a sow and when the new dragon manifested, take it from her and her child. Then, break up with her so that, in her remorse, she could go to his younger brother for “consolation” and they could do it all over again. She then needed to be disposed of before a third dragon was born. With three children and three dragons, she could, if not properly cowed or disposed of, make a power play within the Shimada-gumi.

It was a cluster of ill tidings and potentially disastrous consequences and all for the love of the power that the dragons could bring.

She was sitting quietly on the couch, looking at nothing when he came in. Her long hair was neatly balled up with a cheap chopstick that he immediately disliked holding it up. Her servant’s kimono was wrinkled and creased from sitting and pacing all day.

She looked irritated, her eyes snapping at him angrily before lowering. In her shoes, he would be angry and impatient from doing nothing all day. He smirked and closed the door behind him as she rose stiffly and bowed.

“It is nice to see you,” he greeted with a grin. Cheekily, he added, “But I think that you should perhaps be in something more comfortable. Something to make me glad to see you and more eager to return.”

Her expression was frosty. “I am a servant and dressed as a servant according to the customs of the house.”

He chuckled softly and walked over to the small fridge. Picking up a decanter and a glass, he poured himself a stiff drink. “That is not what is being said in the gossip around the house.”

Chico’s cheeks flushed dark red and she sputtered, “T-t-that’s because of you!”

He raised the edge of his glass towards her. “They seem to think that we fit well.” He shrugged. “And that we should be offered congratulations.”

She snorted softly and looked away with an angry flush on her cheeks. Whoever her mother was, she must have been beautiful for Sojiro to have been attracted enough to bed her. Her mother had shared those good genes as well, making her face more softly oval, her eyes wider, and her nose gently upturned than her father’s.

“So, shall we have a drink first? Or do you wish to get to the main event?” He gestured towards the bed with the amber filled cup.

She shook her head and looked away, her face pale and her harshly bitten lower lip swollen and berry colored. Her arms folded low over her belly, making her look very young and scared like a child out of a story book. He sighed and went to sit down on the couch, watching her as she flicked him a wary look and drifted away from him.

He smirked at her as she paced around, trying to find somewhere that she could be out of his eyeshot, but not in the bedroom. “Do I make you nervous?” he chuckled as he kicked a leg up on the couch and began tugging at his silk tie.

She glanced at him, her hands starting to shake and her mouth still worrying at her bottom lip. “Err...no?”

He laughed again, tossing the tie aside and setting the tumbler on the table. “That sounds like a lie, little girl.”

She shot him a dirty look and finally settled on the arm of the chair. His gaze was riveted to her, and she felt like she wasn’t covered enough, despite the long slip, camisole, long sleeved kimono with its long skirt. She felt like he could peel the clothes off of her with his eyes alone. She paused a long moment and turned away from him, sighing, “I wish that I could make you see....”

“See what?”

“See that this is ridiculous and could never work!” She shook as she gestured around the room. “See that I am absolutely not what you...should be looking at!” Her voice cracked and she pinched the bridge of her nose as her eyes closed and a tear tricked down her cheek. “You should be looking at—.”

“At what?”

“What?!” She looked at him bitterly. With a shrug, she looked away and grunted, “Someone tall, with flawless skin and long blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. Someone with designer dresses and sky high heels and perfect nails all the time.” She took shaky a gulp of air. “Someone who was as perfect and rich and everything as you.”

He laughed low in his chest. “And if I said that was exactly what I did not want?”

She glared at him. “Who is lying now?” She shrugged with a bitter scowl. “Maybe I got some details wrong—a redhead instead of a blonde or green eyes instead of blue—but it’s still not me.” She glanced around, still trying not to look at him. “Which makes me wonder why you are doing this to me?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she interrupted him. “What did I ever do to you to make you do this to me? Did I bump into you? Did I not do something right? Does my hair offend you? Did I insult you or something? What did I do to you that you have to ruin me?”

That made him sit up with a scowl. “Ruin you? Female, I have honored you with my attention!” He shot to his feet so that he towered over her. “Yes, you are plain. Yes, you are not perfect. For that reason alone you should be honored and flattered that I would even look at your simple face!” He puffed out an angry breath. “There is no reason that you should be so ungrateful, spitting in my face like that.”

She looked up at him fearfully. “But....”

“No. You deserve to be told the truth! You are not pretty, not like a model or movie star. So what?! If that defines you, then you are a fool.” He sucked in a breath, struggling to maintain his calm. “You should be flattered that I would even speak to you, rather than hissing and spitting like an angry kitten!”

“You should not be shouting at me like a child!”

He grinned at her. “It is about time that you found your voice.” He crossed his arms again. “But we will see if we can borrow some feathers for my plain sparrow.” He offered her a smirk and hoped it was friendly. “That should perk you up.”

She looked up at him like he had offered to have her flogged. “Look...i-i-i-if we have to do this, can we just...just turn off the lights and get it over with?”

He studied her for a moment, perplexed. “You are strange.” He walked around her solemnly as if he was studying an exhibit at a zoo. “I have never met a woman who was not excited when I offered to take her shopping.” He paused in front of her. “I have never met someone who did not want to shed the servant’s uniform.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What are you trying to hide?”

“N-n-n-nothing!”

“Truly?” His tone said that he did not believe her. “Then let us continue.” Very slowly, he took her hand and led her to the fridge. “I will pour you a quick drink. Ordinarily, I would get you a lighter drink—perhaps a fruity martini or a cosmo—but I do have a nice sherry instead.” He poured her a finger of sherry in a tumbler. He pressed it into her numb hand and unresisting grip. “Later, I will have someone bring in a flavored vodka or a light wine.”

“No...really! This is fine!” She couldn’t think of a ready protest and kept holding the tumbler. She raised it to her lips and tilted the glass. “D-d-delicious.”

“Hmm,” was all he said in reply. “Why not try more than wetting your lips? For example, try getting some in your mouth.”

“T-this is just fine.” Her eyes darted around nervously. As he watched her closely, she did take a nervous sip. The alcohol burned and she coughed. His eyes lit up with amusement and he patted her back. “Sorry....”

“You do not drink, do you?”

“Not normally, no.”

“Then I will teach you about fine drinks.” He cocked a weary eye at her. “That will be fun and educational.” She looked up at him in surprise. “Fun for me and educational for you.”

“Err...OK. If you say so.” She glanced away, plucking at the cuffs of the uniform again. “I mean, you don’t have to.”

“I think it will do you good,” he commented as gently as he could. “Perhaps it would help you relax.”

She glared at him. “Maybe I do not want to relax.”

He let out a strained chuckle. “What are you afraid of, usagi?”

“Rabbit?” she snorted.

He wrapped a casual arm around her. “If you do not want to wait any longer, then we will proceed.”

“Proceed?!” she squeaked.

“Everyone is saying that we are together,” he laughed. “If we have to endure the gossip, why not actually make it worthwhile?”

“There would be no gossip if you had simply left me alone,” she whispered.

He only hummed and pulled her towards the bedroom. She stalled, dragging her feet as much as she could, but he was too powerful as he pulled her towards the bedroom. Finally, she was there, staring at the immense bed.

Hanzo felt the tension in her every move. It was only when she was standing by his bed, looking stiffly down at it, that he felt her bend. Which was worrisome because he had no idea what harebrained scheme she had in mind to try and stop him this time.

“If I show you why, will you let me go?” Her voice was the quiet whisper of a terrified child.

He cocked an eyebrow as the new tack. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, a few more tears running down her cheeks. With a shrug, she repeated, “If I show you why I do not want yours or anyone’s attention, then will you let me go back to work?” She looked askance. “It’s nothing against you—not really. But I do not want anyone to look at me. All I want to do is to just work and go home.”


	5. Chapter 5

“What?” Hanzo chuffed out a reply as he fingered the high collar at the back of her neck.

She shivered restlessly. “I want your promise.” She choked a little on a sob. “Just...just let me go back to work.”

None too gently, he twisted her and sat her on the bed. “Now tell me what this is all about.” He frowned at her. “Why are you so insistent on leaving and going back to work?”

“Who doesn’t need more money?” she asked bitterly, glancing away.

“But why?” He frowned at her. “Do you have debts?” After a long moment, she nodded. He cursed. “How much?”

She shrugged, looking anywhere but at him. “Enough that I will be working forever.”

“Why not go to a hostess club? Or bartend? There must be a hundred jobs that would pay more than here.” He glanced at her speculatively. The stiff kimono did nothing for her and hid her shape in a uniform column. “Jobs that would come easily to a young lady.”

“This is the best paying job that I could get under the circumstances.” She still wouldn’t look at him. “The hours are good and you are close enough to a bus stop.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” She shrugged again. “My mother said that if I could get her letter here, then I wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Did you read the letter? Why would you believe that we would take care of you?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t read it. I don’t know what she was thinking.” Chiyo rubbed her hands nervously. “Just...she said it was my best chance for a good life.”

“And the debts?”

She looked up at him sheepishly. “My mother’s debts.” Chiyo rubbed her eyes wearily. “There’s no cheap way to fight cancer.”

“Cancer?!”

“She had a rare form of throat cancer. It went into remission twice, and the third time it came back worse than before. It didn’t respond to any of the normal treatments and we finally found a clinic that said that they could help her.” Chiyo shrugged helplessly. “Unfortunately, they did not save her, but the bills came anyway.”

Hanzo nodded slowly. No wonder the mother had taken a long shot and told her daughter to come here. There would probably be no other way for her to even hope to get enough money to pay off such debts. Still, it did not answer why she was convinced that this was her best shot—hostess clubs paid their most junior employees more than a maid could usually get here.

He leaned against the wall of the bedroom. “So you have debts.”

“Tremendous debts. Huge debts.” She shuddered. “Three bouts of cancer leaves three bouts of bills.”

“That’s not so bad,” he muttered with a shrug. “There are many here with similar stories.”

Chiyo nodded a little. Several of the other maids had similar stories—huge debts that they owed, sometimes to the Shimada-gumi directly and sometimes to others. Those were the ones that always got the worst shifts—the huge rooms with fiddly bits, the late nights, the after-party shifts that involved more puke than alcohol—but they were also the ones that helped others and were willing to stay late and allowed others to be as familiar or as distant as they chose. In short, her favorite type of people.

“So aside from debts, is there anything else I should know?” He cocked his head at her. “Just as a matter of course.” She looked up at him fearfully. “Like why you are here instead of a hostess club? A nightclub if you’re too prissy.”

Chiyo looked up at him wearily. Moving as slowly as an old, old woman, she plucked up the cuff of the long sleeve and folded it back, watching him steadily and as pitilessly as he had ever seen.

He took one look and his face went carefully blank even though he went blindingly pale.

Her slender arm was beautifully formed. The skin was the delicious color of pale honey. There would have been nothing for him to complain about in most circumstances. To his sharp eyes, there was what might have been a birthmark in a deep wine color that resembled a dragon coiling around her forearm which might have proved that she was of Shimada blood. By that alone, she should have been able to compel help and support as a blood kin.

What made his blood boil and freeze at the same time was the ladder of scars tracing up from an inch or two above her wrist to her elbow. Some were ancient—faint white lines that went from one side of her arm to the other. Others were pink—recent wounds that were healing and undoubtedly stung when she was sweating over her duties. Fewer, but more noticeable, were the blinding red ones that looked like she had lost a fight with a hedge trimmer. They overlapped like straw thrown on a path, becoming reckless zigzags, boxes, diamonds or crosses with a thick layer of powder or makeup not quite covering them.

Very slowly, he pushed himself up off the wall and approached her. Taking her tiny wrist in his hand, he began tracing the lines with featherlight strokes. His hand grazed where the faint red nose could have been, up to the first coil. There was a brief chattering in his head as his blue dragon awoke underneath his skin and began to feel gingerly for a reply.

“So,” Chiyo said coldly. “I am very happy to continue to work here, as a maid, in this uniform. I only want to go back to work.”

His hand was shaking. There was no gentle trembling or easily explained jerk in shock or amazement. He looked at the ladder of scars as they disappeared underneath her pulled back sleeve and undoubtedly up her arm. He swallowed heavily again as his rough fingers felt the slight static of a dragon’s response.

It was weak—so very weak. It was soft and sad and felt almost hopeless as he stroked it. Every stroke, every cut, and she was damaging the precious dragon she carried in her blood. It was a wonder that it had held on so long.

She wasn’t even looking at him, just staring distantly at a corner of the room like a badly painted china doll. Like she had no idea what she held in her skin.

And, truthfully, she probably didn’t.

Hanzo puffed out a breath and watched as the few hairs that grew between the patchwork of scars prickled up. This helpless creature was so weak it could not manifest, could not defend itself.

Grabbing her wrist in his fist, he ripped the sleeve up. The fabric shredded in his grasp as he tore the sleeve and the uniform. With each rip, he grew more and more enraged as the ladder continued up and up and further up her arm to her shoulder where a thin wine colored line was obviously a tail. At last he pushed her backward down on the bed, one arm of her uniform in shredded pieces on the bed.

“This is—,” he growled at her, his eyes feeling like they should be shooting flames at her as she blinked out tears. “I have absolutely no words for this kind of desecration.”

Chiyo waited for a moment and then rolled across the bed to the edge and sat up. “I told you that it was bad.” She shrugged sadly, stroking her suddenly bare arm. “So now you see why I cannot do anything else.”

Standing abruptly, she bent back over the bed and began collecting the scraps of fabric. With an angry cry, Hanzo slammed his fist on the bed and slid it around, scattering the threads and shreds around the room. Chiyo let out a mewl as the mess scattered.

“Do not say a single word if you value your life.” Hanzo puffed out a deep breath slowly. “The only reason that you are still alive is—.” He stopped suddenly, aware of all the secrets he wanted to spill out.

“Is what?!” Chiyo glared at him. “Why?” She choked back a sob. “If you hate me so much, then why not just end my misery?” He glared at her, trying to force himself to keep silent. “Please.... Why not just let me end it?”

“No,” he whispered cuttingly. “You will never, ever do this again.” He grabbed her in a lightning move and pulled her over the bed to stand next to him. “I will stop this.”

Chiyo burst out into tears, shaking as he gripped her shoulders. “W-w-why won’t you please leave me alone?”

“You will never, ever be alone again.” Hanzo looked at her sternly. “Never.”

Chiyo crumpled in front of him. He pulled her to her feet and began ripping the uniform off of her. It fell in fluttering pieces to the floor and his hands were so fast that she did not have a single moment to grab one piece.

“So now we see the entire picture,” Hanzo muttered. One hand gripped her arm and the other ghosted over her body. Old crosshatches snacked up and down her other arm and her legs, but they were more widely spaced. The ones over the coiling dragon birthmark were comparatively fresh and crowded harshly against each other. “But what I do not understand is why.”

He looked at her with a gaze so cold she was shivering, her eyes swollen and red. “It is late. First you will shower, then you will dry off and come to bed with me.”

“I-I-I can’t. I have work tomorrow.”

“Not any more.” He pulled her harshly towards the bathroom. “You will either obey, or I will tie you hand and foot and make you obey.” He gripped her hair harshly, making her wince. “I can spend many hours each day making sure that you want to obey me.”

Chiyo nodded blankly. “I will do what you want.”

“Good,” he nodded, shoving her into the bathroom. “I will not trust you until you are free of this curse.” She looked away, avoiding every glance of his shadow, his reflection and him. “Step into the shower.”

Chiyo squealed as the warm water hit her back. No matter how she twisted or turned, he kept a tight grip on her arm. “It...it hurts!”

“The water is barely warm,” he muttered sourly. “And I will not let you out.”

Chiyo shook as he gripped her scarred arm. The water made the marks ache, like always. She tugged and pulled, but his roughly calloused hand gripped her tighter. She leapt when his other hand reached past her and picked up the soap bar. Scrabbling for it, she whimpered as he dodged her and smiled wickedly.

“I will not let you out until I am satisfied that you are clean,” he grunted as she wriggled. Stepping inside the spray of water with her, he ignored the water running down his pants and began spinning the bar in his hand and building up lather in his fist. “Now stand still.”

Chiyo shook as he pinned her in the corner with his bulk and began rubbing the soap over her. His face scowled and she didn’t dare make him even more angry—especially since he was ruining obviously expensive suit pants doing this to her. Finally, she just cowered in the corner, counting the seconds until he was done.

Hanzo growled as he kept cleaning. Small patches of thick coverup and makeup were rubbing off, revealing more thin scars. Undoubtedly she put on thick makeup each day and sweated it off as she worked. Probably the inside of the uniform was foul with her makeup each day. Grunting, he kept washing and soaping until every inch was a pale rose from scrubbing.

Finally, he was satisfied and let her step out shivering. He tossed her a huge Turkish towel, scowling as she wrapped it around her shoulders and tucked her arms under it. She shot him a frown of her own and then looked away sadly. “Are we done here?”

He nodded and pointed to the bedroom. “Go to the bed and get warm. I cannot have you getting sick.”

Chiyo nodded a bit slowly and staggered back to the bed. He stalked wetly behind her and yanked down a corner of the sheets before nudging her shoulder. “Get in.”

She flinched and fumbled with the towel, shaking her head. “I—. This is not proper.”

“Do I look like I care about proper?” He nudged her again before tugging on the towel. “But this once, I will bow to your prudish sensitivities as long as you drop the towel and get in.”

For once, she did not argue and slid into his mussed up bed. He pulled the sheet and blanket over her and turned off the bedside light. “Now, sleep.”

Curled up in a tight knot, Chiyo froze as she heard him moving around. He flicked off the lights, unlocked and opened the closet before closing it again and locking it, more padding around and then he left, locking the bedroom door behind him. In any other circumstances, she would have been able to sleep quickly—the bed was comfortable, the pillows lush and soft, the sheets clean and crisp and wickedly, softly smooth. As it was, she could not stop shivering and it was hours before she slept.

Hanzo stalked around the sitting room, sipping his drink. Stubborn, proud and willful woman! How irritating and conceited could she possibly be? He had done everything he needed to do in order to claim her, made his intentions plain. As soon as he had been able to, he had secured her a place in his protection.

It was insufferable.

At least he did not have to bed her. All he had to do was make her dragon strong enough to manifest, claim that dragon and then toss her aside. Then Genji could claim her in the facade of some kind of romantic rebound and he’d be free of her.

In that one respect, she was right. He did want someone tall, lovely and flawless. It was practically a prerequisite that she be perfect—someone who would enhance his own reputation with flawless looks, excruciating good manners and diamond clear intelligence. He wanted a biddable sort—the kind that wouldn’t make him look bad, would not make him lose face among the other yakuza.

So, he was stuck figuring out the logistics of all this. He needed to keep her isolated—at least until he had her dragon. He needed to build up the strength of the wounded dragon—that was imperative—until he could force it to manifest and then claim it. He needed to do...something to make it look like they were romantically connected in order to be able to have Genji pick her up afterward as a rebound boyfriend.

He stretched out on the couch, sighing as he finished his drink.

Women were really irritating creatures.

The next morning, Chiyo found the door to the bedroom open. Holding a pillow in front of herself, she found that she was alone in the suite. Everything was still locked, but she could at least move around a bit. Unfortunately, she still had nothing to do unless she wanted to drink all day which sounded about as much fun as getting shot. Not to mention that he’d probably declare it theft or make it a debt she owed him.

She needed none of those things.

Frowning, she paced some more, waiting for something else to happen. There wasn’t any thing to even tell her the time. Not a television or anything. The only thing that she had was a trash can full of her servant’s uniform. Fumbling through the shreds, she realized that not only was there absolutely nothing to salvage. Of course, the uniform did not allow for pockets, so she had nothing.

She sat back, marveling at the careless destruction. Nothing was left. Just like her life—it was utterly destroyed as he had shredded her reputation, ripping her apart and trashing her. Despite being a good person, a responsible worker, and a dutiful daughter, she was now trapped with the yakuza heir and second in command.

The metallic ringing startled her and she about fell over in shock. Hunting around like a bloodhound, she finally got to the dresser where a new, cordless phone was lit and vibrating.

“He-hello?” she whispered.

“It’s about time that you are up,” Hanzo murmured. His voice dropped to an excited and intimate tone, “I was thinking of coming to wake you up.”

“N-n-no! I’m awake,” she whimpered. “But I’m... locked in.”

“Oh yes,” he replied. “I couldn’t have you wandering all alone. Someone might steal you away.” There was a brief pause. “But I was thinking of taking you shopping—perhaps getting something filmy and interesting for tonight.”

Chiyo choked. “Really...that’s not necessary—.”

“Oh, I think it is,” he murmured silkily. “So give me an hour and I’ll be done.” He waited another few moments. “I’ll even send Genji out to handle getting the protection money tonight so that you will have me all to yourself.”

Chiyo choked again. “I’m going to call the police.” He hummed. “I will tell them that you have kidnapped me.”

“Oh, really?” His voice sounded amused. “Just one thing. This is an internal only phone. If you press 110, you will reach me directly.” Chiyo just about dropped the receiver. The internal only phone—of course it was internal only. He continued blithely, “119 will reach my father and 118 will reach my brother—if he ever answers his phone.”

“Oh,” Chiyo whispered again. Her hand went numb and tingled from gripping the receiver so tightly. Every common emergency number went directly to the very last people that she wanted to have anything to do with.

“Yes. ‘Oh.’” He smirked. “So I will be with in a little less than an hour. Take a nap and I’ll wake you up sweetly.” Another pause. “See you soon.”

Chiyo hung up without replying. Flopping down on the bed, she pulled the blankets around her to wait. She shook, even with the thick blanket wound tightly around her. There was nothing she could think of to do except to wait.

Hanzo was pleased to find that the suite was quiet when he returned. Chiyo was tied into a knot in the middle of the bed with all the blankets tightly wrapped around her. Her face was still frowning and there were tear stains on her cheeks and on the pillow.

He crept closer to the bed on silent feet. Pulling gently on the sheet, he was disheartened to see grating scratches on her arms.

“Kawaisona doragon,” he whispered, drifting his finger over the birthmark and the poor dragon underneath.

She needed to stop doing this. What could make her stop? Short of locking her in a straight-jacket, how was he supposed to keep her from damaging herself and the dragon? His brow furrowed and he sat gently down on the bed.

Chiyo uncoiled slightly, whimpering as she stretched and was caught in the blankets. She did finally hold up her head and open her eyes to look up at him. With a heavy sigh, she looked away and laid her head back down.

“So you are awake, little girl,” he said softly. “Would you want to get cleaned up first or just go shopping?”

Chiyo sighed again. “Would you please let me go?”

“That is a tiresome refrain,” he observed. “I have offered you two choices.” He grazed his fingers down her new scratches. “And still, under my protection, you still choose to do this.”

Chiyo kept looking away, offering only a half-shrug.

“I want that to end,” he said without rancor or anger. “How do we accomplish that?” He gripped her hand and helped her sit up. “I suppose that we will start with some suitable clothes—.”

“With long sleeves?”

“If you insist,” he nodded. “But something flattering.” He cocked his head with a shy grin. “I do not have a gift for fashion or even colors, but there must be something better than your uniform.”

She smiled stiffly a bit at that. He led her back to the bathroom, letting her take a warm shower. She was even by herself—more or less—since he stood just inside the doorway rather than actually in the shower with her. She still had to use his soap and shampoo—which were surprisingly generic and were unscented. She hadn’t expected him to use exotically scented stuff like a gaijin, but she hadn’t expected him to use economy sized store-brand stuff that she could have found anywhere either.

At least she was clean and she had oodles of hot water rather than the miserly amount she had back at her apartment. Even when it stung her scratches, the warmth beat being cold.

Stepping out, she still couldn’t bear to look at him. But he had gotten out several towels—the incredibly soft and huge towels—and from somewhere he had found her a worn, long-sleeved sweatshirt with a ragged logo from the University of Tokyo and an equally worn set of sweat-pants. They were huge on her—swallowing her whole—but there was elastic at the waist, the ankles and the wrists even if neck was huge and dipped strangely.

“You look like a rag doll,” he commented blandly. “I am glad that I am taking you shopping today.”

True to his word, he took her shopping. She was expecting a mall somewhere—getting dropped off and picked up in a few hours—but instead she was taken to a small boutique. They were greeted politely, offered snacks or candies and fizzy mimosas and then seated as minuscule models wore outfits and showed them off in a kind of private fashion show.

Hanzo was deliberately deflecting the attention from her and Chiyo was grateful for it. Playing the part of an arrogant, overprotective boyfriend seemed to come naturally to him. When a model came prancing out in a neon green bandage dress with matching lace gloves, he snorted and shook his head at the manager as she stood nearby in a chic black suit. “She is beautiful enough without causing a scene in something so short and revealing.”

The manager’s perfectly plucked eyebrows went up, but Hanzo only shook his head and waved the model away. “I insist that she cover up.” He shot her a look that Chiyo couldn’t quite interpret. “Besides, she is so fair, she’ll burn if exposed that much.”

The female manager nodded slowly and Hanzo sat back nonplussed, folding his arms. Leaning over to Chiyo, he murmured, “That should take care of her.” She giggled softly. “Now that you have an idea of the styles, they will help you dress in outfits your size and you will come out to show me.” At her nervous glance, he grunted, “Take your time and wave them away if they get too pushy.”

Chiyo crept back in the back and immediately, she was put into a long robe and given a silky camisole and a few different slips. In the changing room, she found a wardrobe rail and a huge lit mirror and dressing table like movie stars get. Picking out a set of long black pants with pink peonies embroidered up the legs and a white long sleeved peasant blouse with peonies embroidered around the keyhole collar, she was pleased at how well they fit with the soft black suede shoes they offered her.

Hanzo was apparently pleased, nodding at the outfit and smiling at her. She turned around and looked at herself in one of the huge mirrors on the walls and smiled shyly back. The manager led her back to the changing room, making burbling comments about how nice she looked. Chiyo slipped into the changing room again, handing out the outfit for the manager to wrap up.

She did it many more times, growing more confident each time as the huge man smiled and nodded at her. As she was hustled in for yet another change, the manager stepped inside with her to unzip the posh blouse.

“You will look divine in the next outfit,” the woman burbled. “The soft blue is my fav—or...oh.”

Chiyo looked up at the dressing room mirror and saw the pale face looking at her arms. Suddenly, she felt flattened as the marks up her arms were temporarily exposed. The manager’s eyes looked dewy and moist as she offered a timid smile.

“Well, that explains a lot,” the lady said to Chiyo. “Give me a minute and I’ll help you out.”

Chiyo watched as the manager vanished. The excitement she had felt was suddenly gone, as she felt shame fill her. This was hopeless—she was a crow in borrowed feathers pretending to be a peacock. Even the silky robe felt too good for her.

Suddenly, the manager burst back into the room carrying a few nylon things in various colors. Creeping closer, the manager whispered softly, “Look. My cousin...she had a bad time too. She cut for years. The scars never did finally leave, but she inspired me to do a few things here.”

Pulling out something that looked like hose but was in the shape of a shirt, the manager helped Chiyo put it on. To her surprise, the thick garment stretched over her unmercifully, but the nude color was opaque over her scars.

“The material is a new wicking material. It’s what race car drivers use under their outfits to help with sweat and to keep their jumpsuits from sticking when they sweat. We dyed it a neutral skin tone and sell them in suits with a shirt and underpants.” The manager pulled out a pair of thick blue bracelets. “With bracelets or a watch, no one will ever know that you’re wearing it.”

The underwear—what looked like nude pantyhose—came next and were equally effective when paired with ankle boots or with ankle straps for sandals. Chiyo smiled as the manager helped her into a knee length dress and had her twirl around in front of the mirror.

The manager was almost in tears as Chiyo preened. “I’m so happy for you, dear.” Chiyo nodded blindly, brushing her hair behind her ear. Taking her hands, the manager looked her in the eyes. “Now promise me you’ll get that big guy to take you somewhere that you can talk it out. Get some help and stop doing the cutting. Just get some help for it before it overwhelms you.”

Chiyo nodded and let the manager lead her out. Hanzo’s gaze flicked up from his phone with a prepared smile, but his mouth dropped slightly as she came out in a short sleeved, knee length dress in robin’s egg blue. His eyes widened as she turned in front of the mirrors.

“Y-you look...amazing,” he muttered softly.

The manager nodded, offering the usual patter of the designer, the cut and other unimportant details. Chiyo smiled at the sudden surprise in his eyes. “Do you like it?”

He nodded mutely, watching her closely. “It...it looks amazing.” His eyebrow crooked as she blushed and preened. “Amazingly you.”

Chiyo nodded at the manager and was swept away again. Emboldened, she tried on another dress—this one in a dark plum that made her skin look positively white. The manager giggled as much as Chiyo—the dark color washed her out so much that the dyed undergarment stood out. One of the assistants came in and when the manager explained, she nodded in agreement and joined in the joke.

The assistant peeled off one of her thick bracelets to show that she was wearing one of the nude hose things to hide a large koi tattoo. Quite soon they were all talking like long-time friends, giggling at outrageous jokes and laughing at the fashions in some of the magazines that they had laying around.

It wasn’t until a loud knock sounded on the door. Hanzo’s voice came silkily through. “What are you laughing so much about back there?”

Chiyo giggled and emerged in a pair of long, loose silky trousers and a red top that folded like a kimono. He smiled as she twirled in front of him. “Do you like it?”

He nodded. “So what was so funny back there?”

“We were laughing at...at a magazine article,” she murmured, with her cheeks turning pink.

“Ahh,” he nodded slightly. Showing her his phone, he said, “And here I was going to be offended that you were laughing at me.”

Chiyo glanced nervously at the phone. A brightly colored child’s game with falling candy pieces shown on the screen. A white marshmallow cat danced around as it waved a pink flag saying “Level Complete” as a yellow candy bird flew around with an angry look on its face. The score was outrageously high and he had oodles of “candeez”—the in-game currency.

She squelched her laugh. “What level are you on?”

A small flush appeared on his cheeks. “327,” he muttered.

“You must have spent tons of money to get so many candeez,” she replied.

He shook his head. “I do not believe in spending real money to get pretend money.” He shot her a sideways glance. “However, I have been playing since version 1.3.”

Chiyo gasped. “They just released version 10!”

“Indeed. We have been an investor in the author’s software company since version 1.4.” He shrugged. “It’s been a profitable, lucrative investment.” He turned towards the beaming manager and raised his voice enough to be heard. “So which outfits are we getting, my dear?”

Chiyo smiled sadly at the rack of clothes and shrugged bashfully. It still felt too glamorous for her and where would she wear any of these expensive things anyway? “Well...I only need a few—.”

“We’ll take all of the ones I’ve seen so far,” he said firmly to the manageress. “If there are other pieces, then she will pick them out.”

The women went in the back and the assistant and manager were both wrapping the clothes frantically before sliding them into slick bags. Chiyo bent to help, plucking up two spare blouses and a few thick pairs of leggings. The shoes were boxed up equally quickly. The manager disappeared and reappeared with four sets of the hosiery underwear in Chiyo’s skin tone.

All too quickly, she was hustling to the front of the boutique carrying several huge slick shopping bags with poufs of pale cream tissue coming out the top. The manager lugged a few more—the heavy ones with the shoes and boots.

To Chiyo’s amazement, Hanzo did not even blink as the bill was presented to him in a velvet covered folder. He simply slid a slick card in the folder and handed it back without stopping to look at it. 

“I-I hope that you like it,” Chiyo muttered softly as he signed the long slip and took his gold card back. The bags were collected and presented. “I.... The clothes I mean. I hope that you like them.”

“Would I have bought them if I didn’t?” He shot her a sideways look. “I would like you to wear the embroidered pants and blouse tonight.” He gestured vaguely at his wrists and downs he chest. “The one with the...the pink flowers.”

She nodded, flushing. “They are almost too beautiful to wear.” Her cheeks turned pink. “But if you like them, it will be worth it.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chiyo was exhausted when they arrived at the estate again. She had never been so happy to see a bed. Almost before Hanzo had left, she was curling in her little knot.

“So tired already?” he asked softly. “Or eager?”

She looked up at him warily. “Eager?”

“For company,” he clarified with a wave towards the bed. “Although we might need to be relatively decent for dinner.”

“D-d-dinner?” Her voice squeaked as she peeked out at him. “We have to go somewhere for dinner?” She shook her head. “I-I-I thought that we...that is, you, would just go on like I wasn’t there.”

“We will do dinner tonight with my brother.” Hanzo tried to keep his voice level. “And his girl du jour.”

“A girl named ‘Du Jour’?”

He laughed shortly. “No. Her name is not ‘Du Jour’.” He snickered again. “That is a French term that means ‘of the day’.” He shrugged more nonchalantly than he felt. “He has a different girl every week or sometimes every day. He does not stay with anyone for very long.”

She sat up wearily. “There is no harm, I suppose.”

“It is why I want you to wear the pants and blouse outfit,” Hanzo instructed. “Then you will not be uncomfortable meeting them.” He checked his watch. “You can nap for a few minutes while I make some calls, but then you need to get dressed.”

He slid out and closed the bedroom door behind him. Dialing Genji, he gave him details in a soft voice. “We will have dinner tonight. In the small bar here at Hanamura.”

“Do we have to?” Genji pouted.

“Yes,” Hanzo sighed. “Bring some girl and we will eat at seven.”

“Seven? That’s barely forty-five minutes!” Genji made a rude noise. “I don’t even know if Karen will be able to make that.”

“Then call someone else,” Hanzo muttered.

“That just gets crazy,” Genji sighed. “Look...if I call her now, then she can come. Give me five or ten minutes.”

“But you will be there?”

“Why?”

“It is necessary so that you have a social introduction to her,” Hanzo grunted.

“It’s not like either of us have to marry her—!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. Of course they didn’t have to marry her—either of them. Sojiro would be apoplectic if he even suggested it. The rest of the clan would be equally enraged at the thought of any of them trying to take dragons from relatives. “Just show up. I will make the arrangements.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Hanzo grimaced at the loud sound as Genji hung up. Sitting down on the couch, he pulled up his game again. The pleasant game soundtrack he muted as the next level came up. Chiyo hadn’t laughed at him as the stupid little cat had danced around. That was a pleasant change, to feel a bit like it was...unmanly to play the child’s game. It relaxed him to play the pointless game—something without violence and blood except for the occasional scene where the candy cat would swat at the bird.

He finally got through the level and dialed Timothy to arrange the dinner. The staff would arrange everything—he was confident of that. How hard would it be to have dinner for four and drinks? He shrugged and began his game again, keeping an impatient eye on the clock. Finally, he was able to go knock on the door.

“Chiyo-san? It is time to get up,” he called.

“Mmm-kay,” came the sleepy reply.

“Hurry, then,” he replied. “I will be coming in in about ten minutes.”

That made her bolt upright on the bed. Where was the outfit? Chiyo pulled out the clothing, emptying bags until she found the long black pants and the white peasant blouse he wanted. She slid into them, trying on the several pairs of designer shoes and frowning at them. There was nothing else to do except to find the ankle high black boots and find some of the bangles that they had bought to go with the outfit. Satisfied that she was as covered as she was going to get, she watched as he came in to pull on a fresh shirt.

A few moments later, they were walking through the hallways to a small dining room. Genji arrived with a lean and athletic bleached platinum blonde who seemed to primarily speak in giggles and little flirtatious asides to Genji. The food was delicious and too beautifully presented to eat. Even the little garnishes were beautifully carved—the tiny red radishes with a dragon swirling around them and the little yellow carrots that were carved to look like roses.

They didn’t really talk much. The women did not have a lot in common since Chiyo was a maid and the other woman was a tennis pro. The gentlemen could not discuss their jobs or their business. Television and movies could only be discussed for so long. They could spend barely any time with the usual topics—schools and reunions, politics or so on. Instead, there was the usual round of pleased exclamations about the food and the soft clicks of chopsticks.

No sooner had the mochi dessert arrived when Hanzo remarked offhandedly, “It has been a lovely evening, Ototo-san, but we must be leaving soon.”

“Ta-ta,” chirped the blonde with a giggle as she picked up the sweet, obviously dismissing Chiyo.

“What’s the hurry, Anija-san?”

“I cannot continue to keep her up too late,” Hanzo remarked in that same casual tone. “It is...bad for her health.”

Genji was about to protest, undoubtedly to make a suggestion of a movie or a club that they could all go to. Then he looked at Hanzo and then at Chiyo and only nodded his head. They all stood up and bowed, making their farewells. Hanzo put a hand gently on Chiyo to lead her away, ignoring the derisive snort of Genji’s date as they walked away.

Hanzo sighed and led Chiyo back to their suite. If they passed someone along the way, Hanzo would lean close to her, whisper in her ear or say something flirtatious in a voice that just happened to carry to every ear. Everyone giggled or sighed and bowed before backing away respectfully.

Hanzo was surprised to feel Chiyo pulling him harder and hard the closer they got to the bedroom. Her impatience seemed out of place and worried him. She gave him a strained look and only pulled a little harder.

“What are you plotting, Chiyo-san?” Hanzo asked deceptively softly.

“I-I-I... I just need to be alone for a bit,” she whispered with a soft flush.

He pulled up short, and yanked on her hand enough to make her stumble. “What is wrong?”

She let out a whine and, to his surprise, stumbled again to press against him. “P-p-please. Just...get me out of here. Somewhere quiet.”

His eyes were narrow and he led her down a different hallway. Chiyo bit her lip until it bled as she was pulled this way and that through different hallways and even past a double doorway guarded with two smartly suited and obviously armed men. She was about to protest—about to pull back and tell him just go to his bedroom—but then she saw him pull open just one more door.

The last door slid open and Chiyo felt a cool brush of evening air. The starry sky spread overhead like diamonds on velvet. There was a slight roll to the grassy lawn under ancient cherry trees and red maple trees. A small round pool surrounded by banks of tiny white rocks flowed into a thin stream that stretched towards a second pool on a lower level with a small bridge over it. At the second round pool, the water slid down a circle of rocks to almost completely surround an ancient willow tree with its thin branches gracefully skimming the water like green silk. Lanterns—some traditional stone lanterns like the pair on each side of the bridge and some that were orbs in a papery shades of pink or red or white—provided soothing, dim lighting in pools that was more beautiful than what others might have lit up with overwhelming flood lights.

Chiyo gingerly stepped onto the first of the worn path stones. “This...is beautiful.”

Hanzo nodded and stepped back. She first took the branch to the first pool and peered at the bottom where a green dragon surrounded a black and white in-yo symbol. Following the path in its meandering way, she crossed the bridge and looked at the illuminated ancient willow tree with the brightly colored koi meandering in slow circles. Continuing to follow the curving path, she found a dark stone bench under the branches of an ancient cherry tree. She even gingerly stepped down the wide stones to the lower level where a blue dragon circled the same in-yo symbol and gingerly looked at the bamboo deer-chaser fountain.

Stepping down the path towards her on cautiously silent feet, Hanzo watched as she stood at the edge of the lower fountain watching the water. She said nothing, just watched the water flow past. If she noticed his presence coming closer, he couldn’t tell it.

“This was my mother’s favorite garden,” he whispered. Chiyo was unusually silent and staring. “She brought my brother and I here when we were overwhelmed.” He waited for her to respond, but she ignored him still. “The bench under the cherry tree was her place to meditate—directly between the pool to the north and the pool to the south.”

“It...is beautiful,” Chiyo whispered, still not looking at him. She paused, taking in a deep breath as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “God, and...it is quiet—finally.”

Hanzo stared at her, studying her to try to figure out what exactly she meant as she finally opened her eyes and looked out at the fountain. She said nothing else, just stared at the water running over the rocks. “The pool here is the fountain of the dragon of the south. It is where I can meditate, find my center and regain my balance.”

“It is finally quiet here.” She looked up at him with a curious expression on her face that seemed to almost be one of peaceful admiration. Her eyes were dewy and wet as she looked up to him. “And I...I can rest.”

He pulled back a little in shock as she seemed to loose her mind. He stumbled over his words as he tried to keep all of the secrets inside. Still, he was shocked at her sudden change of mood. “Has the dr—.... What have you taken? What have you done?”

She looked confused and guarded again as she took a step back. “Taken?”

“You are not making sense, ika reta on’nanoko,” he muttered sourly. “You must have taken something. Maybe Genji put something in your drink.”

She looked back at the pool, taking in a deep breath as tears began streaming down her face. “Can I come here again? Where it is quiet.” Glancing at him, she flushed and blinked back tears. “I mean, if I have to...you know.... Then I want to come here at times and...”

“What. Have. You. Taken?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

She looked up at him wearily. “Taken? Nothing.” She finally gave him her full attention. “I...I don’t have the money to do anything, to take anything.” Chiyo frowned in confusion. “I don’t know what kind of...people you normally deal with, but even if I had the money, I would not do...drugs!” He crossed his arms, plainly disbelieving. “I just had a blood test if you don’t believe me.”

He sputtered at her. “Then what is all this crazy talk?”

She glared at him and for a moment, he thought she would slap him. Then she glanced away again and took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me!”

Tears came flowing down again. “You wouldn’t believe me.” She stared resolutely at the pool. “I’d sound even crazier if I told you.” She sighed wearily. “I suppose now you’re going to lock me in your dungeon bedroom again.” She flipped her fingers at him. “And then you’re going to go away and think I’m cra—.”

She stopped suddenly, peering at him with a gleam in her eye that he hadn’t seen before. “Do you really want to know?” He nodded stiffly. “No matter how demented it sounds?”

He backed up a step. “I suppose that you will not tell me anything if I do not grant you something?” She shrugged. “Fine. I really want to know. What is it?”

“Wh-what will you do if—when you realize that I sound crazy?” She cocked her head. “Are you going to turn me in? Lock me up somewhere?”

“You will get locked up somewhere if you do not stop playing games!”

Her eyes narrowed in an unfamiliar, calculating way. Hanzo’s breath caught as he saw, for perhaps the first time, his father’s resemblance. Finally, she sighed and looked away again. “It’s.... It’s too crazy.” Her fingers gently touched her sleeve and traced the embroidery at her wrist. “I mean...for the first time, I feel like.... I don’t know.” She glanced at him. “I suppose that I should trust you.” With a fatalistic shrug, she concluded, “The worst you can do is take back the clothes and make sure I get locked up for a while again.”

She pulled up the sleeve of the white blouse, revealing the birthmark. “That’s what I mean.”


	7. Chapter 7

Hanzo stared at the scarred shape on her arm. It seemed to be a darker color, the thin lines more pale against it. For a moment in the uncertain evening light, it looked like the dragon was in a cage. It was still obviously not able to manifest, so why that was the problem, he couldn’t guess. He looked up at her with questions in his eyes.

“My mother couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t handle it.” Chiyo spat the words angrily as she faced the pool. “My mom was a legal assistant. She was working with her boss on some kind of high profile case—I didn’t understand all of it, only that she was busy a lot. Then something happened—some kind of scandal—before I was born and she lost her job.

“So she went to work as a hostess in a club. She started seeing all kinds of men—scary men who showed up drunk or stoned or both. It scared me at times—the weird things that they said and did. Sometimes they would come home with her so that she could make extra money. Sometimes she didn’t come home until the next day.

“Finally, she brought home the wrong one. He thought that it would be cute to come into my room. When he did, he smelled funny and acted weird—like he’d giggle every time that one of the floorboards squeaked. He grabbed me and ripped my pajamas.”

Hanzo sighed, nodding slightly. Such things happened. The tightness he felt in his throat and the tightening of his fists was...coincidental.

Unfortunately, Chiyo wasn’t done. “When he grabbed my arm, it hurt. I haven’t ever felt such pain. There was a whoosh and a burst of...of...blue fire. The man went out of the apartment screaming at my mother. She left—running after him and telling him that it was an accident and I shouldn’t have been playing with matches in my room.” She glared at the water, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks. “She almost lost that job too, but she did lose him as a customer.”

“And then what happened?”

“She had me lock my doors when she brought home someone. I couldn’t leave—even to go to the bathroom—when she was entertaining. The damn thing wouldn’t stop hurting whenever she brought her work home. When she got promoted or whatever, she had to do a lot more work—more hours and sometimes even traveling. I was home alone one weekend when the damn thing started talking to me.

“My mother thought it was some kind of childish game—that I had an imaginary friend again. I kept trying to tell her that it was talking—little stupid whispers that I couldn’t ever quite hear. She got frustrated because and finally had me committed. That time, I spent three days in the hospital, tied up and everything in a stupid padded room with people chanting that I needed to stop pretending.” She clawed at her skin, her short, dull nails raising lines on her arms. “After three days, I told them what they wanted to hear—there was no voice, it was just me pretending, that I wanted my mother’s attention.”

She shrugged. “The worst part was when I was in school a few days later. The voice had always been bad during stuff like quizzes—sometimes I could hear it whispering weird stuff like answers on the tests. When one of the athletes crashed into me, I could feel the fire on my skin, I had to wrap my sweater around my arm and it kept wriggling like...like an alien. Everyone was staring.

“I couldn’t wait to get to art class after that. That was fun and I could relax—most of the time.”

Hanzo muttered, “And the cutting?”

“I slipped in art class with a craft knife. It was an accident—just a scratch really. But it was all of a sudden quiet. I watched the blood come out and I was suddenly...relieved. The school nurse patched me up and I hid the knife in my backpack when I was sent home.” She laughed brokenly. “For a moment, I thought the damn craft knife was magical. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t—but it was such a relief to go through a whole day and not hearing another voice in my head all the time.”

She was crying openly now, not even looking at him. “I kept that damn knife with me all the time. I’d go to the bathroom to pull out the knife. But it was too long—too hard to hide—so I took out the blade and wrapped it in a cloth and put it in my little purse. When I lost it—kind of stupid really that the thing fell out of a hole—I used sharp pencils or pens with tips. When I was in a bad way—I looked online for help and saw a video that I could use a pencil sharpener and unscrew it with a coin to get the blades. So I could keep that extra voice in my head quiet.”

She shot him a sour look. “The day that I graduated, my mother collapsed and that’s how we found out that she had throat cancer. Maybe the customers slipped her stuff. Maybe she was taking stuff. God knows. So instead of going to college, I went to work as a housekeeper with one of the services to try to help with the bills. She got better and then worse and then better—and it was a see-saw that I never knew which way it would go with her. She kept on as a hostess—kept seeing strange men. The third relapse, I found that she had been skimping on the pain meds—selling them. We were in debt—thousands. Maybe even millions at this point—who knows? When she was dying—she knew she was dying—she said that she had a letter and I was to bring it here. That I’d be taken care of here and I’d have a job.”

“So you came here with the letter?”

“Yes, I came here. I was scared—so scared that I could barely hold anything. She may have been wasting away, but she was beautiful even then and her hostess money paid for the apartment we were in. I got shuffled around a bit—different people speaking to me—and then my letter was taken...somewhere. After a while of sitting in an empty office, the housekeeper said that there might be a position open for a maid, but that I’d have to work on probation for a while and do a blood test for drugs.”

“Ahh,” Hanzo sighed. “And so the debts—they are for your mother’s care?”

“Yes,” Chiyo muttered sourly, rubbing her eyes. “I can’t pay a lot, but I live—lived—cheaply enough that I could do ten thousand yen or so every so often. Paying them down slowly.” She shrugged bitterly. “It was better than nothing, I suppose, and I couldn’t get this kind of salary anywhere else because then I’d have to show my arms or legs or both.”

They stood there, looking at the fountain for a while in silence. “At least here the damn thing is quiet,” she said after a long period of silence. Her eyes were almost closed in relief, making her look almost beautiful. “If I could just get my job back, pay off those debts, then it’d be perfect.” She sighed happily. “But...here, at last, there is quiet. It makes it all worth it.”

Hanzo just listened, waiting. She was not wrong—this was a garden designed specifically to pacify the spirit dragons. There were copious details—even down to certain gems like rose quartz and amethyst and artifacts buried in the ground—that made this the place that they could quiet. He and Genji had spent hours here in their youth trying to get their heads quiet enough to function. The teenage years, the young adult years, were the worst because the damn things seemed insane with all the rush of hormones in their bodies.

If only he could tell her that. Sojiro had warned him not to reveal the existence of the dragons when no one knew she almost had one of her own. He wanted to tell her the truth in a sudden lurch, but who knew what she would do then? She might think him crazed instead.

“I...had not realized,” Hanzo muttered as an uncomfortable blush hit his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have...forced you like that.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I will see what can be done.”

Chiyo nodded sadly, glancing sideways at him. “I suppose it’s a compliment. I don’t know what you see in me, but these few minutes have made it all worth it.” She rolled her head, closing her eyes in a relaxed way. “Even the shopping is worth it. I can finally....”

“Breathe,” he finished.

“Yes.”

They stood there, watching nothing and listening to the water, for what seemed like a very long time. It wasn’t like anything that Hanzo had ever done with another person before—just stand and relish the dying day in the garden. He was usually going somewhere, doing something, positioning lives and weapons as if he were living on a chess board.

Now it was as if life had stopped for just a moment. For just a single moment, he could be simply a man, breathing in the evening air and forgetting about the worries of the day. He smirked, silently wishing she had been welcomed as his half-sister. She would have been able to pay off the debts. She would have had so much more, could have done more. He would have been able to arrange a profitable marriage if she had wished. She could have gone to college. There was so much more she could have done and been. It was a relief now, though, to simply stand and let the evening catch up and soothe them.

Even his dragon was growing quiet, soothed by the silent company and the dwindling day.


	8. Chapter 8

There was nothing else to say. They stayed out at the southern pond for a while longer. After that, they went to the bridge and Hanzo pulled out a tiny bottle with pellets and offered her a few of the pellets to feed to the koi. They stopped at the bench, pausing to sit a bit longer as soft petals fell in singles and pairs around them and fireflies blinked. Chiyo caught one of the drifting pink bits, holding it in her hand mournfully before puffing her cheeks and blowing it off her palm in a whirl.

Sadly, she let Hanzo lead her back to the his bedroom. The quiet gave way to soft whispering that was irritating because she couldn’t quite hear it enough to tell what it was saying. By the time they were locked in the bedroom, her head ached with the incessant whispering.

“Bad night?” Hanzo asked. She nodded slowly. He sighed heavily and handed her a tumbler with clear liquid. “This is citrus flavored vodka. It is less...intense than the sherry.” He smiled at her. “Less alcohol content too.”

She tossed it back carelessly and began sputtering and coughing heavily. “Yikes. You’d think I’d learn.”

He chuckled. “If you like, tomorrow I will show you some of the various alcohols and how they pair with foods.”

“Really?”

“I happen to like Hakushu whiskey myself. Neat with orange slices.” He studied her carefully. “Genji prefers anything that flows downhill, so I would not trust him for your first exposure to hard drinks.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Tomorrow night we will sit down together and I will show you the delight of good drink.”

He smirked at her. “I have to do a few things before I can stop for the night. Why don’t you climb in the bed and I’ll join you when I can.”

She nodded slowly, climbing in the bed. “O-o-okay.”

Hanzo wrapped her back in the sweats and pulled down the sheets. She clambered past him, sliding into bed. He smirked at her and turned out the lights before leaving. As soon as she was locked back in his suite, he pulled out his phone.

“Aiko-san, I want you to do some research for me. Background and financial check on a new employee named Chiyo Takahashi.” He smirked—Aiko’s ability to track down information was second-to-none. “She has purportedly several debts—medical debts—and I want to know how much and to whom.” He nodded slightly. “Of course, I want full background. Who she was. Who her parents were—her mother and if there is any information on her father. Are there any relatives.”

He waited for a moment, still thinking, when something Aiko said caught his attention. “What? My father already had you investigate her? If the investigation has already been done, then send me copies. Yes, to my office. I will be there in ten minutes.”

As soon as he was there, he saw the fax machine spitting out page after page of the report. He turned on the desk light and began reading. Nothing contradicted what she had told him. Her father was listed as unknown on all her records. The illicit blood work was 98.74% conclusive that Sojiro was her father. Her mother was Sora Takahashi—known as the “Yellow Rose” of the “Udayashi” hostess club until she had died a few weeks ago.

Hanzo flushed as he kept reading. Sora had a huge list of regular clientele—assorted notable businessmen, three women, several politicians, and (of course) his father. The list dwindled—presumably as her illness became more intense—until she had only a handful of rather skanky, second rate men who were best left alone.

Then there was the pile of pages listing the outstanding bills—hospital bills, pharmacy bills, doctor bills, therapist bills. He pulled out a small calculator and began totaling them. Not counting the rent she apparently owed and a portion of the utilities for the apartment she shared with 3 other women. With a low whistle, he looked at the total—10,996,253 yen, give or take various late fees. Ironically, that was peanuts and could be easily be paid. The Shimada paid those kinds of amounts to police who were willing to turn a blind eye to occasional skirmishes.

He took out a picture—a breathtaking picture from a Udayashi advertisement of a woman with captivating makeup who must be Chiyo’s mother. She was posed against a chaise lounge in a flowing satin gown with a long dark cigarette holder and a slightly smoking cigarette at the end of it. He was almost jealous that he had not met her himself.

The next few pages were a list of run-ins with the law, mostly when she was escorting this or that customer somewhere. Again, there were a few fees or fines, but nothing outrageous. Boring reading to him.

The last few pages were filled with errata about Chiyo. A shy, quiet girl, all the reports agreed. Good in school, strong in mathematics and art, and a very proficient swimmer. She volunteered in a pre-school for low-income families, a semester was spent in an English intensive course. She had received an acceptance from the University of Tokyo, but did not reply before the seat was awarded to someone else.

With a smirk, he sent an email to his father and then to Genji. The billing departments were all overjoyed that their claims were being paid in full. Several had been on the verge of going to collection agencies. All of them were too pleased to accept payment to question where the money was coming from—namely, one of Genji’s false company fronts.

He felt a bit lighter as the receipts were sent to an anonymous email he created —“EternalMouse255821135@yahoo.jp”. Each little beep that sounded when a new message came in was one step closer for her books to be cleared. He sat back in his comfortable chair, considering what steps would be appropriate next.

The story was simple enough. Genji would be so moved by the poor little Chiyo’s story that he would pay for the debts to be cleared. That would set him up to have Chiyo fall into his arms once Hanzo had the second dragon.

He soothed his pricking conscious, telling himself that he would take her dragon. He would cherish it, make it stronger and keep it away from her. He needed only have her a few weeks, rather than the year or so that his father originally estimated. He could easily manufacture a perfectly valid argument that would manipulate her into breaking up with him and then Genji could make his move. He would sleep with her, allow the child to be “carelessly” conceived (Genji would love that, wouldn’t he?) and then “honorably” take care of her until the child’s dragon materialized, at which point she would be eliminated.

It was strange, though. She was a genuinely nice girl—a rarity in the strange twilight world he lived in. He had not met many—maybe even none—like her and he almost felt regret that she had to go.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day Chiyo was amused as several men came into the apartment to deliver a large television and a game system with a few games. They took their time, setting up the console with a wireless connection and connecting it to a movie streaming service. Before they left, they handed her the stack of manuals and a gift card to the online gaming store that had enough credit for her to select a few games.

The suite was still locked, but that did not worry her overly because the mini fridge now had a few bottles of water and some snacks. She sat down patiently, playing games and catching up on a few movies.

The hellish monster was creeping up on the scantily clad woman in the shadowy forest. Ever so slowly, it’s alien feet stepped lightly on the moonlit moss as she cowered with her broken stick and failing flashlight. The music dropped to an ominous whisper and Chiyo held her breath as the dripping claw slid through the branches towards the terrified woman’s back—.

Suddenly the door opened and light flooded the room. Chiyo shrieked in terror and threw the first thing she had in her hand at the shadowy figure in the doorway—a thick pillow with hard raised seams that was stiff with embroidery. The figure grunted in surprise and then growled as the pillow struck him in the head.

Hanzo stumbled back dizzily as Chiyo shrieked, echoed by the actress’s theatrical scream. The pillow danced in his hands and his face stung. There was a faint tickling under his nose and he was sure that he was going to sneeze as he tried to regain control of the pillow.

The sneeze won. He sneezed heavily and the pillow fell to the floor. Glaring up at Chiyo, he growled at her as she stared at him from her place on the couch as the actress on the television began running from the creature.

“Are you finished?” Hanzo growled low in his throat. Chiyo’s eyes went wider as he gingerly touched under his nose. There was a glare of surprised irritation as he realized that the slight tickle was, in fact, a slight nosebleed from where thick, hard seam struck him square in the face. His eyes narrowed even more as he heard Genji behind him.

“Some kind of attack, Anija?” His eyes twinkled. “Should we call for backup or security?” Hanzo sneezed again and Genji chuckled. “Perhaps a doctor?”

“Silence,” Hanzo ordered, softly touching his nose again. Stalking inside, he slammed the door behind him.

Chiyo’s eyes went wide and her skin paled to ashen grey. “I-I-I—!”

He growled again at her, looking sourly at her from the hallway. “Are you done?” She nodded slowly as she cringed on the couch. He touched his nose again and showed her the drop of bright red blood on it. “I had thought that we would sit down like civilized people. Apparently I overestimated you.”

Chiyo bolted to the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth. “I’m so, so sorry.” She pressed it in his hand and he gingerly wiped his face. “I’m so, really, very sorry.” She gestured towards the television where the alien was stalking his next victim. “I.... Dammit. I’m sorry.”

She pulled him close and whispered, “Hold on. I need to put some pressure on your nostrils to make it stop. Just lean forward a bit.” She held the washcloth and gave him a nervous smile. “Just a few moments. There.” She released him and nodded as the thin drips of blood stopped. “See? It’s stopped. Here...you can wipe up.”

He nodded shortly, wiping his face. “If you ever...ever do anything like that again, I will personally....”

“Yeah,” she nodded, suddenly subdued. “I’m sorry.”

“Just get dressed,” he snapped.

“O-o-o-okay,” she whispered as she turned white. “I-i-i-is there any-anything you want?”

“Just dressed,” he hissed.

Chiyo shuddered and leapt away from him. Running to the bedroom, she grabbed a sleek pair of tuxedo tailored pants and a flowing poet’s blouse in red. It was the fastest thing she could slide on without needing the flesh colored underthings. She grabbed the boots and stuffed her feet into them.

He led her silently past Genji who loitered in the doorway across the hallway with an absent smile on his face. Chiyo glanced at him stiffly, but clung closer to Hanzo as they went down another series of hallways to an open room in modern design.

A neatly uniformed gaijin blond man in a pair of dark pants, a light blue pressed shirt and a dark vest stood behind what could only be called a “bar”. The room held a few couches and then two small matching tables that were surrounded by high wooden chairs. A colorful carpet was under the tables, making it feel luxurious.

The bartender snapped to attention and said, “Good evening, sir and ma’am. Can I get you something?”

Hanzo waved at him and led Chiyo to a chair at one of the tables. “We are having dinner in here.”

“Of course, sir,” he replied. Lightning fast, he put two tumblers on the top of the bar, filled them with ice and shot them full of water before dropping half-slices of lemons in each one. Bringing them over, he briefly flashed an electric pad. “With the gyodon, I would recommend a flight of lighter red wines. For the miso salmon, I’d recommend a flight of dry white wines.”

Hanzo nodded slightly. “Nothing too heavy, Timothy-san.” Timothy smiled and went back behind the bar. Smiling at her, Hanzo continued, “This is a private area where my family can discuss...our business with our partners without concern of someone overhearing.” He pointed at the bartender who was busy setting up lines of wine glasses. “Timothy-san was rescued from a block war by my father. He has been extensively trained—both here and in apprenticeships overseas in San Francisco, Las Vegas and Miami.”

“Really?” Chiyo’s mind boggled at traveling so far. “That....”

Hanzo let out a chuckle. “It makes this a pleasant enough place to introduce you to alcohol.” He paused as a plainly dressed Sakura brought in a tray holding small plates of gyoza and miso soup. “I will be starting you with water so that you start hydrated.”

Timothy brought out the water and set the glasses in front of them. “Would you like to try some o-sake, ma’am?”

Chiyo glanced at Hanzo who only nodded. He said, “We will try one that is filtered and one that isn’t. You will notice that the unfiltered is cloudy. It is properly called ‘nigori’ and will be served cold. The filtered is clear and is commonly served warmed.” Timothy walked over with five small cups—four of anything being anathema in Japan—and set them down on the table. There were two thimble sized cups of warmed, clear sake and three of unfiltered.

“Now,” Hanzo murmured. “Take just enough to tickle your tongue and hold it for a moment so that you can taste all of the flavors.”

Chiyo did as he advised, tasting the distinct flavors of the two. Next he had her try some white wine—served in tiny amounts in crystal glasses with delicate stems that looked ethereal in his huge hands. The next course had lighter red wines—barely a mouthful in each glass. Chiyo’s head was spinning slightly and Hanzo had her drink a full cup of water before offering her a sip of the smoky whiskey he was drinking after dinner.

She was giggling by the time that she was served the tiny bittersweet chocolates. This seemed so...safe. So fun. Like she was floating. Just about everything seemed funny—from the way that the carbonation in the seltzer water made the thin straw rise to the way that Hanzo’s hair seemed to be frizzy at the very edges. She grinned at him as she picked up another piece and let it melt on her tongue.

“You seem to be overly amused,” Hanzo observed as he took another sip of whiskey.

Chiyo shook her head in an attempt to protest, but dissolved into giggles.

He snorted. “What has you in such giggles?” He grunted at her. “Does my whiskey amuse you so much?” She shook her head. “Do you want to tell me what is so funny?”

“N-n-nothing,” Chiyo sputtered. Idly, she scratched at her arm, looking down at the dark red birthmark and the lines all over it. She grinned again—couldn’t help but grin again as the fizzy happiness bubbled again in her veins. “There’s nothing....”

“Smirking at me does not give truth to your words,” he replied. Cocking his head, he watched as she unconsciously scratched the dragon shape on her arm. “Do we need to go to the gardens for a walk after dessert?”

Chiyo nodded, a little sad that the meal was coming to a close. It felt a little like a date—a charming dinner at a cafe or something. She had been so focused on the drinks, on dodging the chopsticks of her companion, on learning what she could, that she had been largely successful in ignoring the artful whispers in her head.

The sounds were still not quite words, but they seemed to be trying to tell her something. Something that was important as they seemed to be getting shriller, if not louder. It was like listening to the guttural whispers of someone about to die. Or rising from the dead. She gave Hanzo a nervous smile and a short nod at nothing as she prayed she could get it to quiet down.

Unfortunately, now they whispered only louder. She could almost make out distinct words, but the tones were distinctly worried and alarmed. What it was so concerned about she had no idea....

Actually, that was a lie.

She knew exactly what was causing the turmoil, why it was so intense. It was him—the heir to the Shimada-kai and the eldest son of the kumicho. Whatever it was and however it got there, it was smart enough to recognize that she was in a lot of trouble—legal trouble, power trouble, social trouble. Not that she had a lot of options at the time, and she knew she had no options now. No matter what she might have had, it had all gotten flushed down the drain when the wakagashira first noticed her.

What on earth had she done to get his attention?

Her head suddenly ached. What had she done to get his attention? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember when he first noticed her. What had she done? Why was he so interested in her? She was unsure what it was. Hadn’t she done what was supposed to do? Hadn’t she taken care of her mother? Hadn’t she honored her? Hadn’t she worked hard and kept her head down and done exactly what was asked of her?

She hadn’t asked for the voice or the alien or symbiote or whatever it was. It was louder, stronger. It was as if the happier she was, the more insistent it was that she leave. It made her head ache even more. Why couldn’t whatever it was let her be happy?

Hanzo must have noticed her sudden tremors and silence. He helped her up to her unsteady feet and bid Timothy goodnight with a careless wave. The blond just nodded and wished them a cheerful goodnight that sounded plastic and began to clean up the numerous cups and glasses and dishes they left carelessly behind. They walked quietly to the garden, and once more he allowed her to wander around aimlessly. Not that it was quite freedom—she had seen the decorative wall on the south side of the garden and the top of the high stone walls beyond—but it was at least the flavor of it.

Back at the southern pool with the blue dragon rippling in water, she cocked her head and looked at him. He was idly watching the pool himself, taking in the cool evening and smoking a thin cigarette. In his suit, he looked like just about any other successful businessman. But there was something else about him—something that set him apart from others she had watched.

The pleasant buzz in her blood deflated, leaving her feeling depressed and oddly irritated. Stepping closer to him, she glanced at him and whispered, “So...how do you know?” He flicked his gaze up to her with a glint of surprise. “How did you know that this place would help?”

He took a long breath—the ember glowing red for a long moment. He shrugged and studied the cigarette for a moment. “This is a good place to calm oneself, a good place to relax. It seemed like that was what you needed.”

“After I told you—everything.” Her eyes closed slowly as her voice shook. “After all that, why...?” She cocked her head, listening for once to the urgent call that even here was for some reason not silent. “You have not called me crazy once. Why? Nazedesu ka?”

He glanced again at her. “Why would I denounce you as insane?”

“I hear voices in my head!”

“So you say,” Hanzo muttered, aware that the lies and manipulations were going to start their bilious rot right when he had started to enjoy himself. “But they are conveniently absent in this place, according to you.” She nodded stiffly. “Therefore you are either in control of whatever bedevils you or it is not as bad as you would have me believe.” She stared at him suspiciously and he felt his hackles raise at her scrutiny. “You have reason to be suspicious of me, Chiyo-chan—.”

She bristled at the subject that suggested familiarity. “Don’t call me that!”

“—Chiyo-san. You’ve know exactly who and what I am from the start.” He cocked an eyebrow at her before taking a last draw on the cigarette. “You are the one who has been a mystery.”

She snorted again, crossing her arms. The raw lines and scars felt hot and stung like bees as the skin rubbed against her long sleeves and cold hands. “Why do you know? Why do you know how much this helps?” He shrugged casually. “Tell me why.”

Finally his eyes narrowed. “I brought you here because I knew how much my mother cherished this place, how much peace it brought her.” His voice grew stiff and angry, his shoulders tense. “Apparently, I was wrong.” He glanced away angrily. “I will not bring you here again if it makes you so irritable.”

She sighed and looked away. “I like this place. But there is something that you are not telling me.” Glaring at him angrily, she continued. “There is no earthly reason that you should have ever notice me. You never notice any of the other servants—not even Sakura and she is gorgeous! We are all invisible to you.

“We could have both existed here for years and years without ever even speaking, without ever being in the same room. Then, you came in and...and you destroyed everything! All of my work, everything that I’ve tried to build up, it’s gone. And you won’t tell me why!”

Hanzo gritted his teeth. “I happen to like what I see.” He stalked closer to her, close enough that she could smell the tobacco on his breath. “When I see something I like, I go after it.” He stomped around her. “And you complain like a nakimushi!”

Grabbing her arm, he hauled her back inside. She growled curses back at him as they stumbled through the hallways together. When they passed Genji, he only shot them a silent, cat-like smile and watched as Hanzo drug her into the room.

He slung her inside, briefly enjoying watching her stumble and fall to the floor in front of him. Standing over her, he tossed the spent cigarette in the trash can. “So, little one, tell me how I’ve destroyed you.” She looked up at him angrily, hissing through her teeth. “I will have you know that you are not nearly so invisible as you think.”

She looked up at him, hissing again. “What do you mean?”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed again, becoming mere slits as the lie crept out. “It seems like my brother has become enamored with your innocent act as well.”

“What does he have to do with this?!”

“I do not share!” Hanzo bellowed at her to hide the tremor of the lie in his voice.

“I don’t understand!” Chiyo shouted back. “What is it that you see in me? Why are you at all interested? Am I the last virgin in Japan or something?! I’m not worth all the trouble and you have destroyed any chance that I have at having a normal life.”

He laughed at her. “And is that so important? A normal life?”

“No. Yes.” She sighed. “I...It’s.... Yes, it’s important. Look, I’m up to my eyeballs in debt, haven’t been to work in days and I don’t know if I’m going to even have a job when all this is done.”

Hanzo snorted. “Do you really want me to prove it to you?” She looked at him with a frown on her face. Then, after a moment, she nodded. “Fine.” He raised his eyebrows. “Then I will show you.”

Chiyo watched as he left the room with a deadly sense of calm. Agonizing minutes later, he walked back with his hands full of papers. Throwing them at her, he waited while she picked them up from the floor and stared at them.

“Satisfied?” Hanzo kicked the papers and they fluttered in the air. “You do recognize them, don’t you?”

Chiyo struggled to hold on to all the pieces of paper. Every single paper somehow had her name on it. “It.... It can’t be.” She studied them carefully, her eyes going wide as every balance was zero. “It cannot be.” She sucked in an unsteady breath. Her eyes were as big as saucers as she finally looked up at him. “But...why? How?”

Hanzo snorted. “Genji.” He paced over to her. “He...became concerned and wanted to help.” Her eyes watered, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “He thought that it was...highly unfair what happened to you.” His cheek started jerking in a nervous tic. The lies were now going to come fast and thick and he could almost hear the shattering of their fragile relationship. “So, he came to me and made the arrangements to pay off all of them.” Chiyo looked away, a flush staining her cheeks and the rest of her face going pale. “He is quite taken with you.”

She flushed even darker. “I’m...so sorry.”

He waited for a moment and then nodded stiffly. “So, now you have no debts. You are under my care and need not worry further about money or security.” He bent low to peer directly into her shocked face. “And so, how have I destroyed you?”

Chiyo shook her head dizzily. “I’m...so sorry. I can’t—I just can’t believe it. I...I don’t understand how—or why. I don’t understand...but why or how or anything.”

“Is there anything to understand?” Hanzo straightened up and began peeling off his suit coat. “You no longer have debts, thanks to...us. Or, rather, primarily thanks to Genji.”

She looked at the papers again, gaping. “Does this mean that I now owe you instead?”

Hanzo grunted and shook his head. “You do not see my name on any of those, do you?”

Chiyo sobbed, kneeling over with her head in the carpet. “I’m...so sorry.”

He said nothing, just kept unbuttoning his suit shirt, tossing his tie aside. Wandering into the bedroom, he changed into his more comfortable kyudo gi. Tying the traditional belt around his waist, he walked silently past her and left her locked in the bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

His bow felt even better in his hand as he went to the target range. Training bots floated past him and he took his time aiming. Taking a deep breath, he let the first arrow fly. It lodged deep into the bot, shattering it like a clay pot. There was a rhythm to pulling the arrow from the quiver, setting it on the waxed string, pulling the nock back towards his shoulder, looking down the shaft beyond the fletching and the sharply curved arrowhead to the bright orange bot. The pattern—the steady rhythm of kyudo—brought him a sort of peace.

For hundreds of years, generations had taken up bows and slaughtered their enemies. From father to son, great weapons had been passed from hand to hand. He wielded the bow his grandfather had shot. Genji had their father’s katana. His eldest son would learn the katana, the dagger, the bow and the gun from him, inheriting the bow. Genji’s eldest son would inherit the katana. As had happened for centuries, every child would belong to the Shimada-kai with the strongest inheriting the weapons and creating generation after generation of Shimada dragons. It was like watching a path disappear into the mists of time behind him and continue forward out of his sight. The path went on and on, on the backs of dragons.

As he pulled another arrow, the scent of bamboo and flint and feathers filling his lungs, he heard the first chittering. He grinned, knowing that his dragon was eager to hunt. He could feel it in his blood—like the sweet burn of adrenaline and nicotine. It was eager to fight.

The dragon flew out as he let the arrow go. The training bot shattered with orange pieces spraying everywhere.

“Come back, Takeshita-san,” Hanzo gently called as the dragon spun around the smoldering ruins of the bot.

Takeshita looked at him for a moment and spun to come back down the lane towards him. The glowing scales illuminated the lawn—the blades of grass glowing blue and waving as it passed. Hanzo lowered the bow slowly and let his bare arm extend. Takeshita nosed his fingers, nudging his hand aside.

“You are my arm,” Hanzo murmured. “You are my arrow.” The dragon nodded low silently, it’s mane flowing like there was a breeze. Hanzo smirked, gently stroking the beast’s nose—his fingers feeling a slight static at touching the spirit beast’s form.

The great beast shook it’s head, the mane flicking in the air. A great claw touched his hand, nudging it as the beast turned towards the family wing. Hanzo glanced at the lit windows. Takeshita twisted in an unfamiliar way.

“What is it?” Hanzo glanced at the dragon, then at the building again. Bowing low, he looked at the beast again. “Gomen nasai. Wakarimasen.”

He had never meant it so much before—“I’m sorry. I do not understand”. He was totally confused.

Despite his apology or the following explanation, Takeshita spun into a circle, tossing its mane in what appeared to be impatience. As he watched, Takeshita spun into another circle before drawing a curving line down the middle. Hanzo studied the sign as the dragon repeated it. Takeshita appeared to puff out a breath, stirring Hanzo’s bangs.

“I still do not understand,” Hanzo insisted, putting his bow over his shoulder.

Takeshita shot into the air like a neon blue star before landing on the patch of lawn. Spinning in a blue fury, Takeshita drug his tail and dug up a thin line and sending shreds of grass into the air. Hanzo crept closer, studying the willful destruction with wide eyes. In less than a moment, Takeshita was perched on the lawn, staring up at him with an impatient and glaring expression (which was impressive for a head that was a cross between a noble horse and a snake).

Hanzo studied the scraped grass. It looked vaguely like a crooked teardrop with Takeshita’s tail trailing in the curved and pointed in and its body in a loop in the fat end. Hanzo looked at the curious shape.

“In-yo,” he whispered finally. Takeshita nodded with the definite expression of satisfaction of a teacher finally reaching a dull student. “But it is incomplete....” Takeshita nodded again. Hanzo crept to the opposite side, tried to kneel, but the dragon flicked it’s tail and drove him back. “If I am not the other piece, then what is?”

The dragon studied him for a moment and twisted his head again as its mane billowed. It gestured again towards the lit windows.

“Chiyo?” Hanzo asked with surprise.

The dragon’s paw raised and Takeshita flicked his claw at him. Hanzo instinctively flinched away, even though he knew that the dragon was not physically able to strike him. 

Rolling his eyes dramatically and feeling like an errant teenager—a strange feeling for a man in his prime—he bowed and said, “I mean...Chiyo-san.” Takeshita nodded enthusiastically, letting his long teeth show. “She is the other half? Or...her dragon?”

Takeshita’s smile disappeared and he rolled his blue eyes. Tapping a claw impatiently, the dragon waited.

Hanzo nodded with a grimace and bowed his head. “Her dragon is your other half?” He felt the air blow past, grass shreds blowing against his yukata. “But what do I do about Genji? She is supposed to be his next. She is—.”

Hanzo looked up, waiting for the next riddle, but he was alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Chiyo was asleep when he got back and so he slept on the couch, using his alarm clock on his tiny phone to wake himself up. It was simplicity to slip into the bedroom without disturbing her and get dressed before going back to work. And if he happened to see that her cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes still puffy, then he buried it in his heart.

Today he had arranged for a stylist to come in to do...things for her. A kyodai would be outside the door, guarding her as the stick-thin man with his spiky bleached white hair and a host of strange piercings hauled in a huge cart of makeup and scissors and hair products and things he had no idea women even used. A few were so bizarre that he wasn’t sure that they weren’t secretly torture implements. But the weaving and posturing stylist assured him repeatedly in his artificially high-pitched and breathy voice that everything he was using was biologically friendly, all-natural, paraben and sulfate free, hypoallergenic and not tested on animals.

The spirit dragon was tied to her soul, so the more he built up that, the more that the dragon would grow in strength. The stronger the spirit dragon was, the more likely it could manifest. So, he would work on her confidence, her inner strength, and build her dragon up from within. Takeshita had said that it was important, seemed to intimate that it was his own dragon’s other half.

Today Hanzo’s schedule was packed with meetings and he jammed doing paperwork and balancing the ledgers in every moment he could. Sojiro would expect an update as well, as they ate over lunch. Genji was out, so Hanzo knew that all of the oyabun’s attention would be focused on him with laser precision.

Sojiro got to the point quickly—as soon as the servants had left them with their lunch. “So have you fucked her yet?”

Hanzo shook his head and quelled the lurching in his stomach at the thought. “Not yet.”

Sojiro snorted as he began picking at his meal. “Why not?”

Hanzo shook his head, unsure of the answer himself beyond the lurching in his belly at the thought of doing that to his half-sister. “She is not...willing.”

“So?!”

“So...her dragon—.”

Hell—that was the wrong thing to say and Hanzo knew it as soon as the words dropped from his lips. Sojiro’s expression lit up with curiosity and interest, as if he had suddenly found the very last wonder of the world. “She has a dragon?!”

Hanzo nodded shortly. “It is...weak and uncertain. It has only manifested once according to her.”

“And her? Does she know anything?”

Hanzo stared at his meal. Sojiro would not let this go before getting all the answers he wanted. His father was a veritable bulldog with a bone if he wanted to be. Dammit—why had he mentioned the dragon at all? Sojiro glowered at him with a frown, frozen and waiting impatiently for an answer despite being so still.

He finally muttered, “She does not know. She thinks she is going mad. So far—it only makes her irritable and short-tempered. Most likely, it is not strong enough to manifest, but only to whisper or give her intuition which would give her headaches and the like.”

Sojiro nodded, his left hand unconsciously tapping his right shoulder, where his own dragon, Murasaki, lingered. “So, it is not strong.”

“Not yet,” Hanzo nodded. “I imagine that it is similar to what Genji and I experienced when we were younger. When my dragon would not be still and quiet.”

Sojiro gave a withering, reptilian smile. “Then she doesn’t need to linger with you.”

Hanzo grit his teeth. “Not...long.” He took a bite to make himself unclench his jaw. “I am building its strength and then I will claim it for my own.” He paused thoughtfully. “Takeshita has...indicated that it is compatible.”

“And how are you going to handle giving her to Genji?”

Hanzo swallowed heavily, feeling a strange lurching in his belly as Sojiro kept referring to her as if she was a sack of potatoes rather than a human with...with rights and feelings. “I have...begun.” Sojiro’s eyes were keen and interested as he glared with an eyebrow raised. “She said that her mother had medical debts and I have had one of Genji’s front companies clear them. I...ahh...gave him the credit for it, saying that he felt sorry for her.”

“I see.” Sojiro took a thoughtful bite. “And does he know any of this?”

Hanzo turned red and shook his head. “I haven’t gotten to that yet.” Sojiro’s face went red and he glared at his son. “I have been focused on gaining her trust and building the strength of the dragon.”

Sojiro snarled, “At her age, it should be well settled. There should not be a problem getting it to manifest.” He snorted. “Perhaps I should have had Genji go first, if this is too much for you to handle...?”

“Not at all,” Hanzo replied as he ignored the color rising on his cheeks. “There are...complications.”

Sojiro snorted angrily, his face stern and his voice dropping to a growl, “What complications? There should be nothing stopping you from taking the dragon.” His eyes snapped. “I’ll even call Genji so that he is lurking and on hand this evening—.”

“It is a weak dragon because she...she has not coped well with it. She....” What was he supposed to say? If he said that she had all but killed the dragon, then who knew what Sojiro’s reaction would be? Sojiro was more devoted to his dragon than anyone or anything else—including his sons. The dragon’s name was revered in the clan and the date Murasaki merged with Sojiro was celebrated yearly as if it was the Japanese emperor’s birthday. “She has attempted numerous times to...make it go away.”

Sojiro snarled, “Stupid woman. It is a blessing for you to take it then. Someone who can appreciate having the dragon.” He sighed theatrically and shook his head. “Stupid, foolish, weak woman—but what could we expect?”

“Her mother had her hospitalized because she was having difficulties,” Hanzo muttered sourly. “That cannot have been easy.”

Sojiro only snorted. “Then it should be even easier to remove it from her.”

Hanzo snorted and took a bite of his too cool lunch. “And how is that even done?” More was on his tongue—had Sojiro ever even done that?—but Sojiro’s red face and angry sputtering silenced him. “I...ahh... I apologize, Father. It is a rather unusual situation.”

“Just get it done! The longer you linger, the harder it will be for Genji to take his turn without a major confrontation.”


	12. Chapter 12

Hanzo hurried back to his office after lunch and found a sealed box on his desk. Dismissing his assistants and sending out his secretary for fresh tea and to go get a laundry list of random things to keep busy for a while, he opened it.

There was an old scroll that was browned and brittle with age. On one side there was a list of names with the names of dragons and a short description of why the dragons were claimed. He was surprised to see his own name—and Genji’s—on the bottom, along with Takeshita’s and Murasaki’s names and the dates that they had joined.

On the other was a list of ingredients and a recipe. Hanzo scanned it, noting the ingredients and the procedures—grinding, mixing, measuring, praying—and decided that there wasn’t anything that couldn’t be handled. He could send his three assistants out in three different directions and no one would be the wiser. Only one of them was a follower of Shinto, so the other two could go fetch the dried sage, the various crystals, the fresh mint and green tea, and the other herbs and preparations from the herbalist. The last would be sent to go buy a number of high-quality gold necklaces.

Sojiro had helpfully included the three gold pendants and the strange, open-worked knife that looked like it had been created by either a madman or a genius with its sharp, double edged tip, the middle that looked like vines wrapping around a long gone tree and then a leather wrapped handle the width of his two hands.

He checked the lunar calendar and tonight was the fateful night. Hanzo sighed heavily and, almost against his will, wished that there was more time. More time to learn more about what was going on. More time to learn about how a sweet and innocent girl like her was going in his life. More time to enjoy what it was to be with a truly good hearted person, rather than the sin soaked people who lived in his life.

His assistants returned and he gave them the rest of the day off as soon as they did, carefully stowing the purchases in his office safe as soon as he got his hands on them. Even the last one who brought him twenty-one necklaces of better than 20 karat gold, who believed in Shinto and who might have believed in the slightest bit about dragons, was dismissed. In a day or two, he would send them in separate directions to work with other branches of the Shimada-gumi. If they caused issues—then they would “disappear” as well.

As soon as security confirmed their departure, he packed it all in Sojiro’s box. Taking his most trusted men, he went to the garden and secured it. No one was to enter or leave except him and his brother or father without his express approval until the next morning. He took the box and laid it on the bench his mother liked so much.

Even this bench was significant. According to the prescribed ritual, this exact place between the two fountains was the ideal place to bring Chiyo and begin the labor of summoning her dragon. He took out some cigarettes and mixed the dried tobacco with some of the dried sage and burned it to purify the space. The crystals were placed at intervals around the bench and the necklaces were attached to each other with the gold pendants at the ends. He took out his golden lighter and touched the flame to the cones of incense to let them burn.

Finally, at the end of the day, he was almost exhausted. Tonight, he could bring Chiyo here, along with suggesting that they have oranges, sweets and nigori sake in the garden after dinner. They could come here and relax, and when her dragon was soothed enough to be quiet, he could begin the ritual.

If only it didn’t feel like he was polluting the only pure thing in his life. If only this didn’t feel like a betrayal of a greater sort than he had ever imagined he would ever commit. For all that his dragon was stern and elusive—a riddle wrapped in a paradox at times—he also adored it. It scolded him worse than his father at times, but it gave him strength, encouragement and guidance. What would it have been like to struggle through having a dragon alone?

He left, nodding to the guards by the door outside the garden. They nodded solemnly in return, well aware that to cross the wakagashira was to court death. Perhaps they thought he was preparing for a romantic evening. Gossip—no doubt helped by Genji—had filled all of Hanamura that the emotionless young master had fallen in love with a woman at last. It was the sort of story that people repeated with a tone of awe and wonder usually reserved for much loved fairy tales—the prince of the Shimada clan fell in love with a shy servant, waving his magic wand of money and power to make her over into a woman worthy to be a princess.

If only.

Hanzo felt himself—his mind—slipping away from his body. It was repugnant that he was going to spoil this. Even worse, he was going to spoil his own half-sister. That made it a hundred times worse that she was his family, his blood, his kin and he was going to do this to her. He should be protecting her. Hell, Sojiro should be protecting her instead of regarding her as a dirty disposable napkin.

Genji should be stopping him if he had an honorable bone in his body.

That was another headache he felt throbbing behind his eyes. Genji should be stopping him from hurting their half-sister—even if she didn’t know it. Genji should be telling him to not do it, trying to find a way to bring her into the family, rather than destroying her. It wasn’t like this was just anyone—this was another Shimada. Genji should be at least a little alarmed that if Chiyo was considered expendable as Sojiro’s daughter, was there going to come a time when his sons were equally disposable?

Hanzo sighed, fingering the long chain of gold with its heavy pendants at each end. All of his assistants were well paid to follow orders and ignore whatever squeamishness or moral judgements they may have about them. He had parsed out the tasks as carefully as he knew to prevent anyone from putting together the larger picture of what would be happening. Even if they had—by some wild coincidence—gotten a hold of the scroll, then they would only be responsible for some small bit of it too little to form any conclusions.

If only....

He shook himself. There was no point thinking about such wistful daydreams, was there? The girl would lose her dragon. Then he would arrange a blow up—some epic, emotional thunderstorm—and she would run to Genji. A happy time later, her child would be born along with a baby dragon. At such a tender age, the ritual would be far easier and Genji would have his second dragon before his son or daughter was out of diapers and one of any number of tragic disasters would befall the mother and child. Undoubtedly, he would twist it into some kind of huge sympathy play—that he was so wounded he could never love again—that would only attract more feminine attention to him.

Who would mourn her? She had no family. She had a few friends, but they had been put off by his strong-armed courtship. Who would know how much she struggled? Who would remember that she was so reserved and quiet? Would anyone remember the way that she gingerly dusted the geisha painting? Would anyone remember the sound of her giggles when she was buzzed? Would anyone remember the sound of her despair—how her voice became low and gravely when she could no longer keep her heartaches inside?

Who even cared—except him?


	13. Chapter 13

Hanzo drifted close to his own suite after everything was set up. He kept the long golden chain in his suit pocket along with two vials he had taken from the safe in his office. The solemn kyodai bowed to him and opened the door up to show Chiyo sitting in one of the chairs with her hair in an elaborate style with a scarlet ribbon twined in and out of it. He almost couldn’t believe it was the same mousy woman he had left in his bed that morning. The stylist danced around her as they laughed together, his slender and manicured hands full of soft makeup brushes as he powdered her nose.

“Oh, darling, you are going to look fabulous!” the stylist enthused in that breathless way that made him seem more like a woman than a man. “Don’t tell me that big man of yours won’t like this.”

Chiyo shrugged nervously. “H-he-he....He doesn’t like a lot of makeup. I think.”

“Oh this? This isn’t much,” he sighed, moving the brushes around in his hands. “You should see what I did for this other lady. It was a twenty five step process to put her face on and to get her skin in order. She had an eight step routine for the morning and a ten step routine in the evenings.” He swapped brushes again. “You have such nice skin that you have the same simple steps in the morning and in the evening—wash, tone, spot treat, serum, and moisturize. Exfoliate lightly twice a week to make sure that nothing builds up.”

“But not too much makeup,” she insisted softly as he dropped some brushes to pick up a thin, spatula looking thing. “I...don’t need to attract any more attention.”

“Oh honey, don’t you worry none. Once we get you all made up, your man will do anything for you.” He stood there in a striking pose with one foot cocked up as if he was a shoe mannequin. “And with just a fabulous pallet of neutrals and some pinks and maybe some smokey colors for evenings. And you can use this marvy gold pink lipstick any time of day.”

Hanzo waited patiently at the door as the stylist finished his work. It had been several hours and he had been sure to specify that he wanted everything from a clay mask, full facial, colors and makeup and everything. He had checked every box on the form, hoping that she would be busy all day—even ordering lunches to be brought in to them. It was probably too much to hope she would be beautiful, but he didn’t think any of this hurt her. So, all that remained was to see what the very expensive result was.

“Honey, you just are the sweetest thing,” the stylist sighed dramatically, waving his hands to fan his face. “You look just so darling, I’m almost jealous.”

“Don’t be silly,” Chiyo huffed.

“Oh really?” He dropped his brushes in his huge box. Whipping out a large mirror, he shoved it in front of her. “See what a cutie you are?”

Chiyo stared into the mirror and Hanzo’s breath caught to see the reflection. Her face appeared to be a perfect oval of porcelain skin. Her eyes slanted becomingly, seeming dark and clear and perfect with the most beautiful rose kissed them to make her look innocent and yet beguiling. Her cheeks were touched with the same dusky pink as if she had some not-so-innocent riddle hiding inside. Her lips were pink with a hint of gold to look soft and kissable and like a ripe, exotic fruit.

Her eyes flicked to see him in the mirror and she whipped around to face him with a little cry. “Sir!”

Hanzo smiled at her, more to set her nervous sputtering at ease. “You look beautiful.”

That made the thin stylist preen and smile as he posed again. “I just told you that you’d look scrumptious. See? He agrees with me!” He began tossing things aside and taking out wipe out of the immense cart to clean up. “Now, dear, here is the little list of every single thing we used. Don’t worry, we’ll just slide it into this pockety-pocket in your little folder with everything else so that you know exactly what to get the next time your hunky man lets you out of the bed to go shopping.”

Hanzo stepped forward with a nod that felt stiffer than it looked and a smile plastered on his face. “You are breathtaking, my dear. Now...I have arranged a small treat for your patience in waiting for me so long.” He shrugged slightly. “I had thought to take you out for a ride on a motorcycle, but I would hate to mar such beauty, so I think a rickshaw in the old quarter is more in order.”

The stylist clapped his hands gleefully and bounced on his toes as if he had been asked instead of Chiyo. “Oh, what a lovely trip! It sounds like such fun.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo nodded. “I thought it would be a nice way to spend the afternoon with such good weather. If you could wear perhaps the blue dress and some good shoes?” Her eyes were wide and questioning as she looked at him. “I would like to see them on you.”

The stylist whipped around and was cleaned up and ready to go in a moment. Hanzo paid him quietly as Chiyo darted to get on what he wanted. She really was sweet and was biddable, cooperative. She wanted to please him without thought of reward. For a moment, it seemed that without the dragon tangling the situation, they would have a quiet and dignified time together. There were worse matches for him—shopaholics with eyes only for his wallet, scandalous and loud women who wanted nothing more than to argue, addicts to ephemeral fame and notoriety who would do anything to make the headlines.

She reappeared just as the wild haired man was escorted out. Hanzo liked the soft blue dress and how her eyes sparkled as she twirled clumsily in front of him. With a smile, he nodded and took her hand to lead her out. He drove her to the old quarter—a historic district in the traditional style—and hired a rickshaw pulled by an Omnic. At a stately and gentle speed, they saw the buildings and listened to the “driver” give them information on the history and notable happenings. A group of maiko filed past in beautiful kimono, tittering as the rickshaw gave them the right of way to go to one of the numerous outdoor theaters. The sun set over the lake in the small strip of park, turning the trees to black outlines and the ducks to shadows.

They were pulled back in the twilight dusk and Hanzo drove her back. He took her to the little bar where Timothy gave them drinks and laid out small plates of riceballs and nori chips until their small plates of foods arrived. With a winning smile, the bartender gave her all kinds of trivia and explanations of the shots he kept pouring, showed her bar tricks, told and told her jokes. She laughed and sipped the little drinks with their silly and suggestive names. Hanzo took a short phone call, coming back in with a cup of half full of amber liquor.

Chiyo looked up at him as Timothy showed her how to move an olive without touching it. It was a simple trick to take a brandy snifter and drag it into circles so that the olive spun faster and faster around the edges until it was high enough to simply flip the snifter. She laughed and clapped in a distracted fashion, watching as the Shimada walked closer to her.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked softly.

“Yes...thank you.” She nodded to Timothy who carefully stowed the snifter and cleaned up all the little toothpicks and so on. Going up to him, she gave him a more graceful twirl. “Is...is everything all right?”

He nodded, checking his gold watch. “It.... Everything is fine.” He pressed his cup into her hand. “Perhaps we should go to the garden to round out the evening?”

Chiyo smiled at him, taking the cup and sniffing it. There was a smoky flavor with orange and a light tanginess and other flavors beyond her ability to describe. After all the little sips and snacks, it seemed natural to take a swallow, which made him smirk and nod. He waved imperiously and Timothy disappeared behind her—she saw the lights behind her dim—and they were alone.

Suddenly, the voice that he been only murmurs burst out with a wordless shout. She still could barely hear any distinct words, but the voice was high and shrill. She whined and crumpled as her head pounded with throbbing aches. Hanzo knelt immediately beside her, crooning softly and pressing the cup into her hand.

“Headache?” he whispered.

She whined and nodded as even that whisper was too much to bear. Her companion only nodded and helped her drink. The room spun dizzily as the drink slid down her throat in desperate gulps. “It hurts.”

Hanzo nodded as if he didn’t feel the static crackling against his fingers every time he touched her and could almost hear the roar of the dragon as it protested. It was still weak—he had only been doing this for about a week—but it was ready to manifest to save her, despite everything. He pushed the cup up so that she drank the last drops and then whisked it away.

She sagged weakly against him, her eyes fluttering closed as she whimpered. As soft as a ninja’s step, he asked her, “Shall we go to the garden?”

She nodded limply and leaned on him to stand. The throbbing weakened her and every dizzy step was an exhausting trial. Her arm burned, though she couldn’t imagine why since the she had been wearing the nude coverups and the dress for some time. She had been fine...but now everything seemed to be exploding around her and through her skin. Every muscle and fiber in her jittered as if something was trying to claw out of her skin. Something stole her last vestiges of strength and the world seemed to fade into darkness.

He carried her the last few steps past the kyodai who guarded the garden. She was soft and light, like a pearl found in an oyster and now she seemed almost asleep in his arms. He knew as he walked in the deepening night that he was walking in deeper and deeper into his own perdition and it pulled his steps slower and slower until he got to the bench.

Her face relaxed as he entered the prepared and purified area. The stones he had procured and the incense weakened and soothed the spirit dragon—stupefying it into silence and stillness as profound as the deep waters of the fountains. He laid her down on the grass and smiled as she seemed to sleep even deeper.

The drug in the whiskey he had given her was taking effect, making her sleep. Her dragon was strong enough to make a fuss, but not enough to force a manifestation, in the best of times. In this place, it was quiet and soothed. Now, with the incense, the stones, the candles, and all of it—it would be practically comatose. She would think it a dream and when she awoke, the dragon would be gone and she could go on.

Taking out the platinum knife and setting the long gold chain aside, he knelt beside her and began chewing some of the mint and the dried sage to sweeten his breath. He turned on the flashlight app on his phone and began reading from the scroll. The dragon would manifest soon—he could feel the crackle in the air—and be attracted to the golden charm at the start of the chain and the offering of gold. All would be settled soon.

Why did it feel like he was damning himself?


	14. Chapter 14

Chiyo awoke feeling clearheaded and calm in a way that she never had before. A tray was already in the bedroom with a cup of tea and a light breakfast. The suite was silent—even more silent than before as she remembered. It was strange that things were so quiet.

Her day moved on stumbling legs as she washed her face and got ready to face the day. Hanzo invariably chose to surprise her with activities, so it was not alarming that there was nothing to show what she should expect for the day. She wrapped in one of his robes and curled up on the couch, examining the remotes and game controllers to see what she could do in the meantime. Perhaps she should take a lengthy bath....

Hanzo staggered through his day as well. The two dragons had been arguing constantly since the ritual last night, each trying to establish dominance, and giving him a swift and terrible migraine in the meantime. Takeshita was winning for now, but he had no doubt that once the new dragon—with the name indistinctly sounding like ‘Hanakashi’—grew in strength it would get worse.

Sojiro strolled into his office with a tray of tokkuri and two cups. Hanzo stared at him as he set the tray on his desk and poured him a cup of the sake. Automatically, he poured his father a drink in return. “Congratulations, my son!” He smirked with a cold expression. “What you have done has not been done in over a century.”

Hanzo downed the drink and held his head. “I can see why. They will not stop arguing in my head.”

“Pah!” Sojiro snorted playfully, sipping his own drink. “You are strong and they will be quiet in a few days.”

Hanzo nodded in appreciation as his father poured a second drink. “I hope so.”

“They will....” His father nodded as he sipped his drink. “They will settle down. So, have you tossed her to Genji yet?”

Hanzo shook his head slowly. Despite the usual headache remedies, his head still felt full of angry water. “I left her asleep in the suite.”

“Oh?” Sojiro snorted. “Let the little whore go on to Genji. I’m sure that she won’t mind him fucking her tonight.”

Hanzo swallowed heavily. She was a sweet girl who did not deserve to be talked about like she was a mongrel dog. The dragons quieted for a moment and he grimaced at the sudden silence. “I thought it best since she had been drugged—.”

“Of course. Of course.” Sojiro sighed in pleasure and leaned back in his seat to consider his cup. “And soon, of course, Genji will have you to rely on as he learns to control two dragons as well.”

“Of course, Father.” He smiled finally, feeling his head starting to clear. “It will not be a—.”

The phone on Hanzo’s desk chimed insistently. He reached for it, picked it up and said, “Mochi mochi—hello.” He shuddered, listening to the noise on the other end of the line. Even Sojiro could hear insane shrieking and sobbing over the handset. “I will be there immediately.”

They both scrambled to their feet and ran to Hanzo’s suite. A kyodai was standing just outside his open suite door, his eyes wide and obviously burning in curiosity. Two maids were in the suite, trying to hold her as she screamed and sobbed in the middle of the floor. Sojiro stood back with his dark eyes taking in everything.

Hanzo knelt next to her, ignoring her nails clawing into his suit with careless ripping sounds. “Chiyo-san.... Chiyo-san! What is wrong?”

She looked up at him with her face ravaged with hysterical grief. Her eyes were no longer beguiling and lit up with happiness but were puffy and red with tears. Her cheeks were no longer porcelain perfect, but livid and ruddy like a mask from noh theater. Her hair that had been teased and cut and styled so perfectly was in wild snarled puffs as if lightning had combed it.

“What did you do last night?!” she wept into his shoulder. “What happened?!”

Hanzo puffed out an embarrassed breath. Waving his hand, he dismissed the anxious maids and Sojiro dismissed the man at the door, only to lurk in the shadows. “Chiyo-san...what is wrong?”

Shaking, she drew the long sleeves of the robe up to show him her arm. Her skin was a flawless cream underneath the ladder of scars. “You did this to me!” she shouted. “You did this!”

Sojiro erupted from behind him. “My son has done nothing to you!”

Hanzo growled as the older man stomped forward, cursing with foul words. “Let me handle this, Father.”

She collapsed against him. “How could you do this to me, Hanzo?” She rubbed her wrist as if that would make the birthmark reappear. “What did you do?” She shook her head wildly, slapping him with her hair. “The last thing I remember is...is.... Timothy pouring that kamikaze shot and showing me how to.... That stupid bar trick. And then you came back in and said that we...we should go to the garden—.”

Sojiro snorted angrily, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a few steps back. Hanzo grunted sourly. “Is that...the last thing you remember?”

Chiyo sobbed again. Her fists hit his shoulders as she wept, making her appear even more wild. “Whatever you did—I did not want it! Undo it!”

“First of all, tell me what is wrong!”

Chiyo shuddered, her hands clenching in fists as she collapsed against him. “It.... The last thing that I remember is meeting you in the bar. Sipping your drink. I don’t...I don’t remember anything else.

“Then I woke up this morning. The mark was gone and...I was alone. I know now what it is to be alone. I...I am alone and the whole place is silent. I...I am alone here!” Tears streamed down her cheeks and her voice was turned high and shrill. “And it is so quiet! I cannot stand it! I’m—I’m—! Make it just STOP!”

Hanzo crooned into her hair, rocking back and forth as she screamed. He was about to move when he heard another set of slick shoes sliding down the hall. Genji came into his room and reached down to her, over Hanzo’s shoulder. “Gorgeous girl—what did my brother do to you?”

Chiyo took one look at him in his green pullover and slick silver blazer and matching slacks and screamed. Scrambling back as if a smokey skinned demon was staring down at her, she leapt away from them. Her legs kicked hard at them as she crawled away to the bed.

Her sobs filled the room and unexpectedly, she clawed the skin of her arm and blood began dripping. Hanzo was the first to react and shot to his feet to grab a washcloth to wrap around the bloody stripes. She collapsed in a heap, ignoring everything and everyone around her. Hanzo wrapped her wrist and picked her up to put her on the bed and tucked her in.

Sojiro pushed Genji forward and the younger man smiled at her. Genji gave her a thin smirk and patted her hand. “Hey...uhh.... I heard that...you weren’t feeling—. Uhh...well. You weren’t feeling well and I...thought that you.... Maybe...uhhh...?”

Chiyo stared at him blankly, as if he was an alien staring down at her. Her expression was terrifying and plastic. Her eyes were wide and her skin was sallow and clammy and gray. Her gaze was unblinking and cold as if the younger son was a mere shadow in the room—and a not very fashionable one at that.

Hanzo cleared his throat, drawing her gaze to him. Her eyes were mere thin rings with the pupils blown wide and her breath came in shallow pants. “Chiyo...can you hear me?”

That finally got a reaction out of her. “What did you do to me?”

“I thought—,” he began. Sojiro coughed harshly, obviously to interrupt. “My brother.... We thought....” He wracked his brain to come up with a lie. “You were so...so tortured by them. You were so tortured, so upset—.”

Chiyo shuddered. “That gave you no right to...do whatever you did to me.” She shuddered, twisting in the sheets restlessly. “What did you do? What was it?”

Hanzo sighed at her wide-eyed fear. Now she was afraid of him. “Is it not a relief? To not have the voice in your head?” Her head shook but she obviously had no idea what he was asking her. “We will....”

Genji was obviously shoved forward by Sojiro and lurched forward. “I’ll...I’ll go get you tea. Or a drink.” Sojiro shoved him again and he sighed. “Fine.... I’ll get you tea.”

Hanzo sat by her, patting her hand gently as they left and returned. Genji sat down on the other side of the bed and handed her the cup of black tea. Genji pushed her hands, forcing her to drink, and then sat back until she fell asleep again.

Genji cracked a half smile and snorted, “Well, that went well.”

Hanzo sighed impatiently as his brother looked at the cup. “It...will need delicate handling, Genji.”

Sojiro snarled from the doorway, “It seems like she is a highly ungrateful cunt if she’s whined about it talking to her and going crazy about it. Now that it’s gone, she has the temerity to cry about that, too.”

Genji rolled his eyes. “If she’s going to cry and whine all the time, it’s going to be impossible to get the job done and I’ll never get my second dragon.”

“So, get her on something. There must be a hundred different anti-anxiety and psychotropic medicines. All of them can keep her calm until we do the needful.” He shrugged. “And most of them are addictive enough that it will encourage her to do what we need.”

Hanzo shook his head. “Just let her sleep for now. It is most likely very disorienting to lose a dragon suddenly.”

“I suppose,” Genji shrugged. “I guess I’ll go back to my office and break up with Karen now, huh?” He lurched to his feet and strolled out, waving. “See you all at dinner.”

Sojiro grunted. “I need to get back to my office, too.” He didn’t even look at the girl on his older son’s bed. “Do you need help keeping her here until she’s calmed down, son?”

Hanzo stared at the doorway, not really seeing it. “I will stay here for a while and make sure that she is well.” A brief pause. “How much of what did you give her?”

“I’ll ask Genji what it was if you need to know,” Sojiro sighed dismissively.

Hanzo nodded slowly. Chiyo slept on in her deep, dreamless way and he hoped that she was having good dreams. She deserved good dreams—especially after what had happened over the past few days. She deserved a good rest, a long time that she was not required to do anything.

She deserved so much more than he could give her.

He sat there a long time, waiting and thinking. It just figured that this was the first time that the dragons were finally settled and quiet together—so he had nothing to keep him company except for the silence. She would have liked her dragon—perhaps—if she could have had the support of the Shimada and learned to live in peace with it like he had. It was humble and curious and shy like she was. It truly didn’t want to fight or be in conflict with anyone and like any oversized and overly powerful creature or any teenager, when it stumbled and fell, it made a huge mess. It was apologetic, too, for what it had done to her.

She looked like her mother. He wondered what she was like, that woman who had nurtured Chiyo. Perhaps she was shy, too. Perhaps she was better suited to being a mother and wife or some other, humbler station. Perhaps she laughed or had insecurities about her appearance. Perhaps it rankled her to have to put herself on display and to do what she did for money.

He stood up and left her finally. Whatever Genji had given her was keeping her asleep and she had barely moved in all these hours. There seemed to be no end to how long she could sleep and, honestly, he didn’t want to face her after all he had taken from her. So, he closed the suite up, taking a few suits and odds and ends to move to another suite nearby and then put a man to stand outside the door in case she awoke and needed anything.

He was very explicit—she was to be given anything she wanted. If there was any question, then he would personally come and deliver it to her. The man nodded repeatedly as Hanzo repeated his order—twice.

He went to his desk to write her a letter. To say something that might help her. To ask her forgiveness, even though there was no redemption for what he had stolen from her. But he got the blank sheet of vellum out, took out his heavy fountain pen, and couldn’t think what he could say. He checked on her again—touching the throbbing pulse on her neck and feeling that her head was cool—and went back, but there was still nothing he could find to say.

There were no words for his desecration.

With nowhere else to go and nothing specific to do when he got there, he went to meet everyone for dinner. Despite the chef’s undeniable skill with creating beautifully presented fresh foods that were as much a delight to the eye as the tongue, he barely choked down a mouthful that tasted like chalk dust. He nodded blankly at Genji who sulked over breaking up so soon with Karen—whoever that was—though he felt only ice in his heart. He nodded blankly at Sojiro who had the bits and pieces from the ritual picked up out of the garden and who was already counting the days to Genji’s dragon being born. He picked up his cup of sake to toast his family for figuring out a way to double their power without giving anything up, but it was piss on his tongue.

When he finally got away—claiming the dragons’ fighting was giving him another headache when, in fact, they were actually somewhat calm—he walked back down the hallway to the man standing beside the door. Miss had awoken, screaming, but as soon as he stepped in, she had stopped and gaped at him. She had said she had a nightmare and he had grunted and stepped back out. He had heard her rummaging around and he thought he had heard her clinking bottles. Then, she had opened the door and given him a small, neat envelope with Hanzo’s name on it. The man had offered to go running, to call, but she had shaken her head and said...not right now.

Hanzo felt a prickle of static as the dragons awoke, alert to his sudden premonition of bad tidings. The envelope was one from his desk and he did vaguely remember leaving the top part unlocked for something or other. He dismissed the guard with a wave and opened the card.

“My Hanzo,

“I know now what you wanted, and that it wasn’t me. At least, not the real me with the scars on my skin and the imperfect form I have. I know that you wanted whatever it was lurking in my skin and my blood. I know that whatever it was, you have taken and hidden away and I will never see it again. I know that you thought you were doing what I might have wanted.

“I do not know how to cope without it. Whatever it was, it has been with me since my birth. It has tried to protect me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I couldn’t handle it. I know that it—whatever it was—was probably like the rest of the world and doing what it thought best at the time. But now that it is gone, I do not know how to function without it.

“I am not strong enough. I am not pretty enough. I am not whole and perfect enough. Not for it. Not for you. Not for anyone. I did my best, even if my best was not good enough.

“So I am alone now, waiting for the next tsunami to crush me, and I can no longer swim against the tide. Without that thing that cannot be named, I never would have attracted your notice and we would have lived for years and years and years without speaking to each other and you never would have noticed me watching you from the sidelines. Our story was never meant to end with a gentle sigh. I have tasted what it was to live next to you, to be a part of your world, and I wish you well with it. With my imperfections in life, I can only hope that in death, I am allowed to love you still and even if I will never claim you as my own.”

Hanzo wrenched open the door, already knowing in his heart what he would find. He saw her dangling from the shower head, his ties and an obi in a tight braid around her neck. She was in the beautiful blue dress with the delicate matching shoes and, somehow, she had recreated the beautiful effects of makeup and it was like looking at a breathtaking picture of loveliness.

He took her down as gently as he could and got out of the bathroom and sat there. The dragons had given a mighty shout as he broke into the room, but were now withdrawn and quiet, as if the light had gone out in them. It was some time later that the guard stuck his head in and found the young master cradling her in his arms in silence, rocking back and forth.


	15. Chapter 15

The wind howled as her ashes were committed to the earth and the rain sputtered down petulantly. Hanzo wanted her buried with the Shimada, but Sojiro forbade it, so instead he had her cremated and buried her ashes himself in the corner of Hanamura against a wall. There would be no stone, no marker, but she was close by where he could remember her.

No one else mourned her. The staff seemed to barely note her absence, her position’s duties already divided up and absorbed into other people’s jobs. The family she had known of—her mother—was gone and buried and he had paid to make sure the grave was well tended. Sojiro only shrugged and dismissed her from his mind as swiftly as she had appeared. Genji never even seemed to notice she was gone and found yet another girlfriend to take out the very night she died.

So, he did the needful. He set down the tiny urn and pushed the dirt over it. He said a prayer, lit a stick of incense. He said another prayer, because it seemed like what he should do. The dragons had been quiet—silent—ever since he had found her, and the mental silence crushed him.

There was no redemption for what he had done. And now there was silence crushing him and he knew some small bit of what had driven her anguish because now he, too, was locked in a world that suddenly felt completely alone.

The little dragon—her little dragon—had her soft cry, her laugh. The little one had known her joys and pleasures, the things that had haunted her. It had known her far more intimately than any could know her and missed her almost as much as he did. It haunted him as both dragons grew closer and more peaceful in a way he would never have the chance to with her. It was growing stronger by the day, steadier and more demanding and he heard it more often as an echo of her voice.

He wanted too badly to beg her forgiveness.

He stepped away with a low bow, his cheeks flaming. He couldn’t even appear in the traditional white suits of mourning because Sojiro refused to recognize that there was anything significant about her death at all. He set the spade aside where the gardeners would find it and put it away. So now all that remained was to walk away.

He would walk away.

He could walk away.

He stood there, staring at the dark earth. It wasn’t fair for their story to end like this, that she loved him in death. He bowed again, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do next, when he felt the crackle down his spine of the dragons rising.

They were in concert now, racking his body and he leapt back and flung his arm out against his will. They shot forward, spiraling and slammed into the wall with blue-blooded flames. The wall shattered like china to form a large hole and then the dragons disappeared with the most unlikely of joined laughter.

He stared at the hole, at the scene beyond it. A road, the main road leading away from the estate stretched out before curving around some trees and disappearing from sight. The clouds broke and he saw the sunlight hit the road and making the wet pavement sparkle as if covered with jeweled tears. For a moment, he heard a feminine sigh and laugh and he thought he heard footsteps running down the road and away from Hanamura.

Away from him as he stood there.

People crowded around him, gaping at the hole and wondering what happened. Perhaps it had been another yakuza gang’s bomb? Perhaps it had been a bad wall—should all of them be checked? Was the young master all right? What was anyone doing along the outer wall anyway? Had anyone seen what happened?

Security personnel began tugging him away, leading him to safety in case it was some sort of attack. People crowded along the walls, curious little monkeys to watch as they began examining the gaping hole and making calls. He couldn’t even say anything as they stomped over her grave.

The clouds gathered again and the rain began in earnest as Sojiro and Genji appeared like devils at his elbows. Both of them stared at the wall and Hanzo and then the wall again.

Genji was the first to react, with a low whistle. “Damn...you okay, anija? What happened?”

Sojiro snorted, his face inscrutable as he grunted loudly. “Everyone inside until we determine what happened.” The servants nodded slowly, dragging their feet and looking over their shoulders, but they did obey. Still loud enough for the nearby to hear, he added, “Why, if there were such things as dragons, I would say that it looks like two of them plowed through the walls.”

That made everyone else laugh and begin to break up even faster. The oyabun was not concerned—so why should they be? A kyodai was on the phone, calling for engineers and workmen to examine the wall. Security would post a guards so that no one could get out or in until it was fixed. Life could go back to normal.

Hanzo’s face fell as the light vanished from the road. The dragons were silent and there was no one there on the other side of the wall. He backed away, briefly scolding a gardener for leaving his spade out. A brilliant light—another break in the clouds—appeared down the road for a blinding instant, but it faded away as he was pulled indoors.

His dragons were always drawn to the spot, though, even after the wall was fixed. He would go there to meditate and they would laugh in his head, turning somersaults in his mind and scrambling every thought into froth. Sometimes it was his only escape—to come to this corner where he could at last be the monster that was himself. When Sojiro finally died, he came to this corner in his mourning suit of white. When he rose and became the oyabun himself, he was drawn here. When Genji acted out, he would come here.

When he began talking to her, he didn’t remember. Perhaps when Sojiro had first contracted the flu or when he first fell and they discovered his heart condition. Perhaps it was when Genji had first wrecked his car and was in the hospital. Perhaps when Sojiro had that stroke and he was all but broken trying to do the business of the clan, to arrange the extensive care his father suddenly needed and to cope with his sire’s sudden and confusing rages as his body failed him. Perhaps it was no particular time at all—just a random evening as he came out to smoke. But he could talk to her and, in her timeless and quiet way, she would listen to him without judgement or argument.

So, when he was broken himself and covered in Genji’s blood with Genji’s wallet and his bow and quiver, he came here. He spoke her name—such a simple little name—and then, without meaning to, released the dragons. They plowed through the wall again and he saw the road that lead out of Hanamura. It glistened in the moonlight as if it was covered in gold and he saw the flash of light at the narrow point at the end.

He was not enough. He had never been enough—good enough, strong enough. He had never been a good enough brother to Genji. But the road was leading him out there, to whatever would be. The road that beckoned him, called to him in her voice and with the allure of her dragon and her quiet laughter. It glittered strangely, as though it was always waiting for him to start running down it to whatever would await.

He stared at the patch of earth with its neatly trimmed grass, only slightly singed at the edges. For some reason, there was a small vine of blue morning glories that tangled among the rubble. He stared at them stupidly for only a moment. Someone had obviously not paid as careful attention to this little corner if the vine had lived so long—but he was sure that the careful little trumpets of glowing white and light blue were not there before. The little flowers meant “brief love” and it seemed that there was profound meaning in that.

Again he stared at the road, vaguely hearing the guards behind him start to rally to investigate the noise. It glistened for a moment more and he could no more resist the call in his head than he could have stopped breathing. He stopped to pick up a small flower, to tuck it into his clothes, and began running down that road. As he ran to the nearest village, he was somehow not surprised that sudden clouds covered the yellow moon and fog hid him as rain fell to cloak his steps.

And in all these things, in the dark days and nights of cold and want that followed, he heard a soft, feminine voice, loving him in death, where he could not earn her redemption.


End file.
